Symphony
by Sevandor1
Summary: Several movements on a common theme, with a connecting motif, ala Megamind.  Mixed romance, humor, action, heavier topics in some parts.  Fourth and Final Movement: Sense and Sensibility and Somewhere. Fluff, action, music!
1. Pride and Prejudice and iPods

Disclaimer: This is original fan work, intended solely for the entertainment of the readers, and in no way intends any infringement on any copyrights, trademarks, or licenses held by Dreamworks Animation SKG, Alan Schoolcroft, Brent Simons, or the holders of any other legal rights or licenses pertaining to Megamind.

_Author's Note: This will be a group of stories tied together with a common thread: music. As I am also a composer, the "form" of the work will be that of the kind of composition I write, these days: a symphony._

* * *

First Movement:

Pride and Prejudice and iPods

It had been over two months since the opening of Megamind's new museum, in that miserable time of the year that came between New Year's and spring, a perfectly depressing part of winter when the Lake Michigan snow machine simply wouldn't quit and it seemed that warmer weather would never come again. Much as she enjoyed living in Metro City, this was the time of year when Roxanne Ritchi wished that the city could be relocated just a wee bit farther south — say, to Jamaica. Mid-winter in Michigan was not one of Roxanne's favorite things; she found it so dreadfully dull, in fact, that this year, she also found herself wishing that Megamind might forget he was her boyfriend for a day or two, just so the frigid mind-numbing routine might be broken up with the excitement of a good kidnapping. Even the environs of her beautifully rebuilt Tuscan villa style apartment wasn't quite enough to lift the emotional pall.

So, on a dreadfully dull Thursday night near the beginning of February, Roxanne left the station and found herself heading not for home, but out onto the long curve of land that had been the old industrial district, to the south and west of Muskegon Bay, headed for the former warehouse that had been Megamind's central Lair for a fair number of years. She knew that she wasn't expected; they had a date planned for tomorrow night and an annually dull charity event to attend the night after, but Roxanne knew that for her, the welcome mat was always out.

During the six weeks in which she had shared the Lair's living quarters with Megamind and Minion while her apartment had been repaired and remodeled after being trashed by Titan, she had been shown all the holographically disguised entrances, including those for vehicles. One in particular she knew was reserved for her and her new car, a fully tricked out Corvette ZR1, its sleek black finish customized with her boyfriend's electric blue and chrome lightning design. When her previous car had been squashed by a jealous and angry Hal — fortunately in her absence — she had mentioned how she had coveted a 'Vette ever since high school, but had never been able to afford even a decent used one. As he had both the money and an appreciation for fast sports cars, Megamind had been delighted to make that wish come true for her in particularly extravagant style, and since the custom paint job had been Roxanne's suggestion, he'd been delighted all the more.

So rather than go home and spend another dull and empty evening trying to get rid of the lingering headache crummy days at work often gave her, she drove right up to the Lair, aimed her expensive brand new sports car at an imposing brick wall, and boldly plowed right through the very convincing illusion. Her usual parking spot awaited her on the other side, along with several brainbots eager to detail every speck of dirt from the vehicle, and one pink brainbot that practically squealed with delight to see her.

"Hi, Pinky," she greeted the happy little bot that had "adopted" her during the time she'd been in residence awaiting the completion of her apartment renovation. "What's—"

_skreek...greetch...skruuutch..._

"—up?" The noises that greeted Roxanne's ears were faint, but not faint enough. They reminded her of—

_skreeeeeeeeeeeeetchk..._

Fingernails on the blackboard.

That weird sensation that zings up your nose and through your skull when you accidentally touch a filling with a metal fork or a bit of tinfoil.

The wail of a sore-throated banshee with a strangulated hemorrhoid.

_shreeeeeee—unk!_

To Roxanne's relief, the noise stopped. "Huh," she said to Pinky, who as always was only too happy to hover about Daddy's girlfriend. "That was... weird. Is there something wrong with the dishwasher?" The sounds, which came from the upper floor where the living quarters were located, had a suspicious rubbing, scraping, then snapping quality, like a drive belt of some sort abrading itself before breaking.

"Bow—"

_SKWEEEEEEE eeeeeeeeeee EEEEEENGK!_

The ear splitting shriek — which had all the soothing and dulcet tones of twenty squalling alley cats with inflamed adenoids being run over by a garbage truck with the world's largest and loudest air brakes somehow grinding against rusty metal — sent Pinky cringing behind Roxanne and the other car-servicing brainbots into hiding under and inside the Corvette. When her own ears recovered enough from the aural assault so that she could hear again, Roxanne's reporter instincts kicked in, and she decided it was time to investigate.

_phflunk-phflunk-phflunk-shkweeeeeek..._ _phflunk-phflunk-phflunk-shkweeeeeeeeeeek..._

The noises were quiet again, though the rusty nails dragging on the blackboard quality was now joined by a thunking that was reminiscent of someone banging on clogged pipes with a dead fish. No, bad metaphor around here; make that a dead rat. Or perhaps the drops from a pipe of leaking molasses landing on top of an overturned plastic tub. Whatever it was, it was nothing Roxanne had ever before heard around the Lair, evil or non, and she was sure she didn't want to hear it again, it was so _annoying._ She was beginning to wonder if either Megamind or Minion were at home, since their new work as defenders of the city could call them away at any time. She was positive that if her blue hero had been around, she'd be hearing his even more strident complaints about whatever was causing such hideous sounds, and thus would also be hearing the thunks, bumps, and bangs of him doing whatever was necessary to stop it.

_shkweeeeeee EEEEEEEEEEEEEE eeeenk! phflunk-phflunk-phflunk..._

_That's it, _Roxanne decided. If the guys were home, they could explain these weird noises, and if they weren't, the least she could do would be to check it out, just in case it _was_ something like the dishwasher having trouble, about to explode and leave Minion's beautiful kitchen ankle-deep in soapy water. The way Pinky and the other brainbots were acting, this didn't seem like something normal.

The reporter headed for the elevator that went up to the living quarters rather than to the freight elevator that led to the rooftop "observatory." Just as she stepped past the pile of gizmos and boxes that formed a sort of partial wall between Megamind's "thinking area" and the nook containing the elevator door, the shadow of something large coming from around a corner beyond the door nearly made her jump out of her skin — until she saw that it was only Minion, carrying a basketful of clean laundry. The piscine grinned happily as he saw her.

"Ms Ritchi!" he greeted cheerfully. He was always happy to see Roxanne, since she played a major part in recent positive developments in his lifelong career of seeing to Megamind's welfare and happiness. "What brings you here on a dreary night like this? I thought your date with Sir isn't until tomorrow night."

"It isn't," she admitted, taking a few deep breaths to calm her startled heart. "I just had a _really _lousy day at work, and I thought I'd enjoy seeing a few friendly faces."

Minion's expression turned wistful as he hit the call button for the elevator. "Yeah, it seems like this hasn't been the best day for a lot of people. I'm sure Sir will be happy to see you."

Something in his tone made Roxanne's reporter radar go off. "Oh? Did something happen to spoil his day, too—?"

_Shkreeeeeeee EEEeee EEEEeee EEEEEeeeeetchnk..._

She winced. "—like that?"

Minion cocked his head, which meant his entire fishy body tilted in its bowl. "That...?"

_SHREEEEEEE eeeeeeeeeee EEEEEENK!_

"Oh, _that! _No, that's not the problem — well, not for Sir, anyway, though it seems to drive the brainbots crazy. That's just Sir upstairs, practicing."

"Practicing _what? _ How to torture robot guinea pigs and hamsters?"

Minion chuckled as they boarded the lift. "Yeah, it does kinda sound like that, doesn't it? Maybe that's why it bothers the brainbots so much. It's just the boss learning how to play the violin."

That was very likely dead last on Roxanne's list of possible horrific explanations. "Come again?" she asked, thinking she'd misunderstood.

"Sir is teaching himself how to play the violin. I know, it sounds pretty strange given his usual tastes in music, but he has his reasons. For one thing — and please, keep this off the record, he'd kill me if this got out — he's got a number of guilty pleasures when it comes to music, usually just for things like relaxation or when he gets into certain moods or he needs to think hard about non-evil or even non-hero stuff. Remind me to show you some of the playlists he has for his iPod the next time you're here and he's not. Some of it'll probably knock your socks off. But remember, that'll be off the record, too."

Roxanne smiled. "Cross my heart," she vowed. As astonishingly open as Megamind could be about so many things that others would find embarrassing, he was tremendously sensitive in other ways, and could be wounded deeply from the smallest scratch. When Minion warned her, she knew to take it seriously, or she would risk hurting her boyfriend in ways she very much wanted to avoid. After the incident in the rain, she knew all too well how easy it would be for her to break his heart and his spirit — something she _never _wanted to do again. "So, did he decide to take up the violin because today was a bad day?"

"Oh, no," Minion assured her as they reached the living level. For the moment, the awful noises had stopped. "He started it a few days ago, but it's something he's been thinking about since he became a good guy. When Sir was a boy, he read anything he could get his hands on — I'm sure he's mentioned that to you. Burned through the prison library so fast, some of the books probably still have scorch marks. Aside from the academic subjects, he loved stories that make you think, or about people who were great thinkers. He was crazy for the Sherlock Holmes stories, but after he decided his destiny was to be a supervillain, he couldn't very well say he identified with a hero, so he gravitated toward Professor Moriarity instead. To tell the truth, though, he still liked Mr. Holmes better because he was in all the stories and Moriarity wasn't. Ever since he became a hero, he started thinking of himself like a kind of detective whenever he comes up against some crime that needs deductive reasoning to be solved. He started toying with the idea of learning the violin back in early December, when he cracked that case about a string of robberies and assaults on the north side. Mr. Holmes played the violin when he needed to work out a tough problem, so Sir thought it might be worth learning so he could give it a try, the next time he comes up against a difficult case like that."

"Oh, so he's not doing it for the art, then," Roxanne deduced as she followed Minion down a hall, toward the linen closet. It was probably just as well, she thought, since the violin was notoriously difficult to master, and Sherlock Holmes had supposedly never been all that good at it. This did explain the apparent aberration, though, since as far as the rest of the world knew, Megamind thrived solely on ear-splitting, head-banging heavy metal rock. These sounds could break eardrums as well, but not in the same deliberately over-amplified bass-heavy hyper-driven way.

But Minion shrugged. "Actually, it's probably for that, too. Sir always appreciates a challenge, and he likes to learn things as well as he can."

Roxanne chuckled softly. "Then that proves his heart was never totally into being evil, doesn't it?"

Minion grinned. "Not even half into it, really. It was just what he thought he had to be."

_skreeeeeeeeek...greeeeeeeeeetch...skruuuuuuuuuuutch..._

They both winced. "I'm surprised he does this when he knows you're around," the reporter admitted. "Doesn't he hate anyone knowing that he stinks at something?"

The piscine chuckled at her accurate observation. "He does, though really, he's already getting better, and he only started on Tuesday. He just forgot to turn on the sound damping field in the music room, or it's on the blink again. He did give it quite a workout the last time he went at it with his guitar, to blast out the memory of accidentally hearing something of Mr. Scott's on the radio."

He whistled for Pinky, who was as always hanging about as close to Roxanne as she dared. "Tell Sir that Ms Ritchi's here, Pinky. But make sure the sound damper's turned on before you tell him. That way if he forgot, he won't get upset thinking you might've accidentally overheard," he explained to the reporter as Pinky zipped away in the direction of the music room. "He's had kind of a rotten day, and that'd just make things worse."

Now, Roxanne was concerned. "What happened, Minion? I thought that the big story today was his amazing rescue of thirty people caught in the collapse of an old church building out on old Harbor Island."

"Hmm," the fish said reflectively. "How much did you hear about that?"

"A fair amount, since I did the breaking news story from the studio. The place had been condemned last year, the roof caved in from too much ice and snow on unsound structural supports, and the emergency vehicles couldn't get out fast enough because the lift bridge on the only road out to the island had broken down not half an hour earlier. The collapse caused a gas line leak, and the people trapped inside the building would've died from carbon monoxide poisoning by the time regular help could have reached them. Megamind and the bots managed to get everyone out of the building safely with only a few injuries that were all due to the collapse, he got some emergency crews out to the site, then helped fix the bridge and clear the mess. The mayor's thinking of giving him some kind of commendation for it, he did a fantastic job, especially considering that those people weren't even supposed to be out there."

Minion nodded as he stacked the freshly laundered towels and sheets on the cedar shelves. "He did, but that's not the problem. It's..." He hesitated, clearly torn. "I think this is something he should tell you. He needs to talk about it, and with someone other than me. He thinks I'm too biased, and he's right."

She cocked one eyebrow. "And I'm not?"

"Not this way, no. You didn't come from another planet, after all."

Roxanne was fairly certain she knew what this was about. For all that he'd been doing to make amends for his villainous past, there were still too many people in the area who thought of Megamind only as the alien pest who they wanted to go back to where he'd come from, never mind how often it was explained that his planet had been destroyed when he was just a baby. Some idiots actually had the notion that he'd been the cause of that destruction, and had fled to Earth to continue a string of conquests. Damn those movie producers and their fondness for stories with big-headed and/or blue-skinned alien enemies coming to Earth to enslave or kill the people and lay waste to the planet. Once upon a time, Megamind might have enjoyed such films; now, he found them painful reminders of the misguided past he was trying to leave behind.

"I understand," she said, believing that she did. No more was said as Pinky returned — to Roxanne's surprise arriving before Megamind could even be heard coming down the corridor. Unless he was totally immersed in some new invention, the blue genius could be counted on to virtually teleport from wherever he might be in the Lair to greet his girlfriend the moment he knew she'd arrived. This was definitely a major and somewhat unsettling change.

His unusually subdued manner when he showed up at least a full minute later was even more troubling to Roxanne. Oh, his smile and words of welcome were quite genuine, but when she kissed him in greeting, he was hesitant, more hesitant than he'd ever been, as if he was reluctant to touch her — or for her to touch him. She wasn't sure which would be worse, if it was true.

She tried her best to appear interested rather than worried, though her insides were screaming that something was very, very wrong. "Hey, sweetie," she said with a gentle smile. "What's up?"

The look he gave her was so patently forced, Roxanne now knew that something bad had happened, something she needed to know about. "Up?" he replied in a fair imitation of his usual nonchalance. "Nothing! Why should anything be up? Typical day, you know, save the citizens, repair broken infrastructure, send in brainbots to do clean up, same old, same old. Why do you ask? Is something up with you?"

"Hmm, there might be," she ventured, searching for a way to steer this conversation toward more productive ends without causing a unwanted disaster. She hazarded a quick glance at Minion, who shrugged minutely.

"Have you had dinner yet, Ms Ritchi?" the fish asked, a safe enough subject. "We've already eaten, but if you'd like something, we have leftovers, cassoulet with chocolate mousse for dessert."

Roxanne chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood. "You're terrible, Minion, always tempting me like this. If I'm not careful, I'm going to wind up putting on thirty or forty pounds for the camera..."

"Oh, I'm always careful about fats and things," the ichthyoid assured her. "While Sir was studying physics and engineering and science-y stuff, I studied things like nutrition and mechanics and textile arts, to make it easier to take care of him properly. Since those courses were meant for humans anyway, it's easier to know what to do for you." He jerked his head in Megamind's direction and added in a stage whisper, "It's a lot harder with _him,_ getting him to eat right. _You _have common sense."

His comment won him a mild frown from his ward, which was an improvement over the pensive distraction. "If you're reminding me that I didn't touch my supper, you needn't bother, Minion. I'm just... not hungry."

Roxanne's eyes widened. "Not even the chocolate mousse?" Megamind's fondness for sweets was legendary, but he only shrugged. Now she was beginning to wonder if he was sick, though he was showing no other signs of illness. She glanced back at Minion, thought furiously for a moment, then reached a decision. "I had a late lunch, so I didn't stop for anything after work. A little something would be nice, if you don't mind."

An unspoken communication traveled along their exchanged glances. "No problem, Ms Ritchi, I can have everything ready in about half an hour. Why don't you wait in the living room? I'll have Pinky let you know when everything's ready."

"Thanks, Minion, that'd be great. C'mon, you," she instructed Megamind, nabbing his arm to turn him in the proper direction. She said nothing more, and as the alien didn't fight her, she accepted his passivity, for the time being.

When they had settled on the very comfortable overstuffed leather sofa in the elegant Frank Lloyd Wright inspired living room that was one of Roxanne's favorite places in the uppermost floor of the Lair, she sat beside her beau, turned sideways so that she was facing him. For his own part, Megamind sat facing forward, half-slouched. His thoughts were plainly not in the room, or even in the neighborhood of the Lair, and he was so tense, she could see it in the long muscles of his neck, only partially obscured by the black up-turned collar of his unusually designed but otherwise fairly casual shirt. She sighed.

"Okay, spill it," she said, her tone kind but quite firm. "What happened today?" When he said nothing, she didn't let it go. "You can try to clam up all you want, but it won't do you any good, you know," she pointed out. "If something went down during the work you did today, sooner or later it'll come out — if not through the legitimate press then through the scandal sheets. They love dishing any kind of dirt they can find, even if it isn't really dirty. They'll twist until they make it that way."

For some long moments, the alien fidgeted; finally, he loosed a sigh of surrender. "They won't have to twist that hard," he muttered bitterly. "Roxanne, do you believe that I was created... less than human — an animal? That I'm not just bad, but some kind of literal demon?"

Even with all the strange and shocking things she'd seen during her career as a reporter, nothing could have prepared Roxanne for that question. _"What?" _she managed to choke out, almost shocked into speechlessness. "Where did _this_ come from?"

Megamind didn't appear inclined to say more, but after several seconds had dragged by in agonizing silence, he grunted softly. "From the people whose lives I saved today," he ground out between clenched teeth. "After the brainbots and I removed enough of the debris to take them out safely, the ones who came out without a scratch started... I don't know what you'd call it. They called me a lot of things — a demon, a beast, the spawn of Satan, unnatural, unclean — soulless."

He finally looked directly at Roxanne, and his green eyes were so troubled and haunted, she felt something clench tightly about her heart. "I'd just saved their lives, and they said I was damned, that I couldn't buy forgiveness because of how I was created, an evil, inhuman monster. I didn't want to lose my temper, though it made me furious to listen to that, but the more I've been thinking about it, the more I've started to wonder. How do I know they aren't right? They aren't the first people to have painted me as evil by nature, not by choice — even _I _used to believe that. What if I am? What if what I am is something so terrible, I — I'll drag you down with me, just by association? I couldn't live with myself if that were true!"

It felt as if an eternity passed before Roxanne could frame any kind of a response. "Oh, Megamind," she finally breathed. "Sweetie, don't you _ever _believe people who talk like that! They're angry, bitter, mean, spiteful people who go around with chips on their shoulders, telling everybody that they've got God in their pockets because it makes them feel big and strong when they're really small and petty. You asked me once why there are so many religions in the world, and I think this is one of the reasons. Some people need to think they're the only 'right' people in the universe, and to feel that way, they have to go around labeling other people as 'wrong.' You've _done _bad things, yes, but you weren't _created _bad, no more than they were created the way they are. And a lot of these same people go around telling others to repent and ask forgiveness for their sins, the wrongs they make — but _they _won't forgive them. You've done more than talk about atoning for what you did wrong; you're actually _doing _it, like you did today when you put your own safety and life in danger to save theirs. If they can't at least be grateful for that, then they're worse than blind and misguided. They're doing wrong, and trying to make you feel guilty for it. You _know _that, I know you do. Why are you letting them get under your skin like this?"

He was quiet for a few moments before answering. "Because nobody's ever turned on me like that after I helped them. I _thought _you had all those years ago, after that business with the Bradford gang, but you had a reason because of the traumatic amnesia you suffered. None of these people were hurt that badly, and the ones who yelled at me the most weren't really hurt at all! I—"

He hesitated, looking for the proper words. "I didn't like it when they called me soulless. No one's ever called me that before. That's what I'd call people like serial killers. You look into their eyes, and you see... nothing. But I can't see into my own eyes. I can't tell for sure if I'm like that or not." He looked away again.

Now, Roxanne moved closer to him, reaching out with one hand to gently turn his face back toward her, though she couldn't force him to lift his downcast eyes. _"I _can see," she told him with as much assurance as she knew how to muster. "And if I've ever met a person whose eyes really are windows to their soul, it's you. Your sleeve isn't the only place you wear your heart, you know. If anyone can look you straight in the eye and call you a soulless monster, they're lying."

The green eyes did look up now, their expression such a desperate need to believe something they feared impossible, Roxanne could not have remained silent had she wanted. "It's true," she promised him. "If anybody has a right to call you evil and a monster, I suppose it's me — and while I'm sorry to admit that I have, I'm much, much happier to admit that you proved me wrong, one hundred percent. These people who went preaching their gospel of hate today, they _want _you to believe them so that they can have power over you. But even if you give in, it won't stop there. They'll use it as proof that they're right, and then move on to their next victims and start a campaign of hate against them. When you chose not to vent your anger at them, you proved that you're better than them, no matter how much they say they've got Right on their side. You're not a soulless monster; you're a remarkably sensitive and soulful person who was dreadfully hurt when you were very young and took a wrong turn because your hurt let other people define you. The real question isn't what anyone else believes; it's what _you _believe. What _do _you believe, Megamind? That they're right?"

The ex-villain leaned into the hand still gently laid along the curve of his cheek and jaw. He looked away, but it was to think, not to avoid. "No," he finally said, eyes returning to Roxanne with an open, ingenuous gaze. "They aren't right. I've never believed in any religion, but I do believe there's something more beyond this life — or I've always _wanted _to believe it, so I could keep the hope that someday, I'll be able to see my parents again, that I could have a chance for an existence that wasn't so difficult, so painful. And lately, I've been wanting to believe it so that I can tell myself I'll never lose what's become very precious to me." He shifted position to turn fully toward her as he touched the hand on his face.

Roxanne smiled, softly. "I've been thinking that myself," she confessed. "Some days, I wonder if I've lost my mind a little, letting everything between us change so fast — but I always wind up realizing that the crazy part is even thinking thoughts like that. There is something so incredibly _honest _in what's between us now, it's almost a little scary."

She had never been happier to see her boyfriend smile, even weakly. "Not scary because of anything I did, I hope. It'd be embarrassing after all those years of _trying _to scare you, to finally succeed by just being honest."

She laughed lightly. "No, it's just the way it is. Sometimes, it's the real things in life that are the most frightening, not because they're bad, but because having them means giving up preconceptions and attitudes that were comfortable, but wrong. Loving you meant I had to let go of all those years of thinking of you as the permanent villain in my life, which meant giving up having a convenient something outside of myself to take the blame when things went wrong. And that meant facing up to the fact that no matter how bad you might've been, I never really had the right to make you my personal scapegoat. That wasn't right, it wasn't fair, and I'm sorry now that I ever did it. And I think for you, loving me meant having to let go of how much I'd hurt you."

"That was easy," he said without the slightest hesitation. "I think I've always loved you, one way or another, so anything I had to do to let it be more than just a fantasy wasn't difficult. Owning up to things I'd done wrong wasn't quite so easy, but that was a very small price to pay, for you."

He was so sincere, she couldn't help but smile even more brightly, and leaned forward to kiss him. This time, he wasn't afraid to accept her touch, or to respond to it. Over the past months as they'd become more comfortable with each other and their feelings, he had been a very eager and willing pupil in anything that made them mutually happy and helped to define and solidify their relationship. As he had begun to learn the benefits of positive feedback from the people of the city, he had also learned the even more pleasant benefits of learning how to love and be loved.

Megamind had been starved for affection his whole life, and after a long string of failed relationships, Roxanne had a surfeit of stored up feelings that she was more than happy to share with a man who adored her for who she was, as she was. She reveled in the way he returned her expressions of that love with a remarkable mix of awed gentility and fierce protectiveness, and she hoped that nobody ever made the mistake of arousing his anger or his jealousy on her behalf. It was enough now to kiss and be kissed, to touch and be touched, and allow whatever came next to flow naturally from it. Roxanne had never been one of those women who felt a man wasn't a man unless he was out in public proving it on her behalf with shows of strength; that was one of the many reasons she'd always preferred brain over brawn. Jocks who showed off their physical prowess to win a girl couldn't hold a candle to a skinny geek who was smart enough to perceive what that girl really wanted and needed, and simply offer it to her in the ways she liked best. And as Megamind was very, very smart, he was also very, very good at doing just that, a growing skill which he amply demonstrated right now.

When they finally came up for air, Roxanne noticed that they had somehow shifted position without her noticing it — not surprising, since the slender alien was so nimble, he could move quickly before she was even able to register the change. In this case she liked that change very much, as he had pivoted to bring both his legs up onto the couch with his back against one well-padded arm. She was now leaning against and atop him with both his arms wrapped around her, an embrace that radiated profound gratitude along with desire and affection. She sighed softly as she rested her head against his chest, smiling to herself at the thought of how wrong the office gossips were when they speculated that physical contact with Megamind had to be about as uncomfortable and unpleasant as full body contact with a skeleton. If only they knew — but Roxanne wasn't about to tell them, nor was she ever going to let them find out for themselves. For the moment, she was glad to feel him more relaxed, though there was still a hint of tension in him that had nothing to do with passion.

"Feeling better?" she asked lightly, not prodding for anything more than he was willing to give.

"Yes," he said simply, and she knew he meant it. That was something she'd learned the hard and painful way: the fewer the words, the deeper his feelings. Not that he was insincere when he said more, but often, it was his briefest responses that held the greatest depth of feeling. Anything more was just average icing on the perfect cake — sweet, but not always an improvement on an already good thing. "Thank you," he added, softly kissing the top of her head where it rested near his chin.

He said nothing for a moment or three, and Roxanne could tell he was still thinking. "And...?" she prompted, an invitation to vent or simply talk, if he wished.

A few moments more slipped by. At length, Megamind sighed. "I just don't understand these people. How can anyone who says they believe in a Supreme Being look at the universe in all its beautiful complexity and think for one moment that the same Being could be so petty as to bother with making anything _wrong _by its very nature? Even things that seem unpleasant in the natural world serve a purpose in the greater scheme of things. But to create something deliberately flawed...! Why would anyone _do _that?"

"They wouldn't," Roxanne opined, "not if they really _are _a Supreme Being. That's just another one of those things religious fanatics do to make themselves feel that everything they do is justified. Just think about it a second: That church building was condemned and locked up last year because it was found to be unsafe; old and poor construction made it a hazard to its whole neighborhood, not just to the people inside it. The only reason it wasn't already torn down was because funding shortages in that district delayed it. But these people were there, holding a meeting in a building they'd had to break into just to use, insisting that they had the right because it was _their _church — never mind that they'd been already been paid by the city when it was condemned, and their congregation had relocated to a new site only a couple of miles away. What were they doing there in the first place? Why couldn't they hold their meeting in their new church? And who was stupid enough to try starting up a furnace that was probably older and leakier than some of the shipwrecks at the bottom of Lake Michigan?"

Megamind considered these points, his curiosity piqued. "I don't know," he admitted. "Unless the authorities ask for my help, I usually leave the investigations and follow-up to them. I didn't know that the place had been condemned until I saw one of the signs the city had posted on it in the wreckage." He blinked as a connection was made. "That's when they started to preach at me, when I asked why they'd been in a condemned building. I wasn't accusing them of anything; I was just wondering if maybe they didn't know because the signs hadn't been properly posted. That's why they jumped down my throat, isn't it? Because they'd been doing something they knew was wrong, and didn't want to accept the blame."

Roxanne lifted her head to kiss his chin even as she snuggled up against him a bit more closely. "You're learning, sweetie," she congratulated. "I think you've hit it right on the money. The church they belong to is one of those more extreme fundamentalist types to begin with, and I've got a feeling this particular group is so far out on the lunatic fringe, their own church doesn't let them hold their hate-mongering meetings on the church grounds. They wouldn't want to risk getting their whole congregation tarred with the same brush if this bunch ever tries something that gets pegged as a hate crime. This group has probably been slinking out to the old site ever since they were refused a place to meet in the new one. You just happened to be a very convenient target for them to use to dump their feelings of guilt and anger. I'm sorry you had to be hurt like that, without anyone around to defend you."

"Actually, there was, though not at first," he said, enjoying her reassuring presence as well as the feel and the fragrance of her hair against his cheek. "I had to escort some of the emergency personnel out to the site, to take care of the injured while the lift bridge was being repaired. Some of the more vocal 'victims' started in on me again when they saw the brainbots bringing in the EMTs and their equipment, said that I had constructed a legion of false angels to act as my unholy servants to inflict evil on the innocent. Three of the paramedics and two site investigators heard them, and told them off in no uncertain terms. It was good of them to defend me, but I guess I was stinging a little too badly for it to make up for the damage that had already been done."

He lifted her chin and lowered his head to kiss her very tenderly and very thoroughly. He'd gotten exceptionally good at this, though he often started so uncertain and shy: the fact that he'd taken the initiative this time made Roxanne's toes curl and the rest of her melt into a veritable puddle of contentment. "Thank you for finishing the damage control," he whispered when he'd adequately offered his wordless gratitude.

"You're welcome," she sighed, happy to have been of help. "So, no more thinking that you're a monster without a soul?"

"No more," he promised. "Though I still don't understand how people who claim to believe in a God can be so narrow-minded and cruel. Why would any being capable of such incredible and infinite creativity bother with deliberately creating anything _wrong?"_

Roxanne looked up at him, surprised both by his words and the indescribable look on his face. "Are you saying you _do _believe in God?"

He shrugged, his cheeks tinting lavender. "In a way, I suppose. Not in the way of any religion I've ever heard of, though. You have to understand, I'm an inventor, I've been inventing and creating things for almost as long as I can remember. All of the universe is a kind of ultimate invention, a constant, ongoing process of creation — and destruction, yes, old things sometimes have to be taken apart to provide the means of creating new ones. Sooner or later, anyone creative has to ask themselves the question: what created _me?_ Not the physical body, but the unique spark that makes me singular, the only one of my kind in all of creation. Who designed it, and why? I've asked myself that question a lot, over the years. Sometimes it makes me angry, makes me want to reject the notion of any kind of guiding intelligence because I've been hurt so much. But most of the time, it just makes me curious. When I look out at the stars and remember all that I saw before I came to Earth, when I see things here that are incredibly beautiful, I can't help but hope that there really _is _an ultimate intelligence designing it all — and that someday, I might have a chance to meet it, to see it at work. It's kind of awe-inspiring, when you think about the possibilities."

Roxanne suddenly felt as if the whole world that had been unfocused had in an instant become crystal clear. The words that sprang into her mind murmured from her lips. _ "Some men see things as they are and ask why. Others dream things that never were and ask why not."_

When Megamind gave her a puzzled look, she explained. "It's something a playwright wrote a long time ago, that was quoted by a young and inspiring politician who was assassinated in the 1960s. It's what you've been talking about. Those people who harassed you today were pretending they have all the answers, but they're really clueless, going around asking _why_ and getting angry at others when they don't like the answers. You look out at the same universe, you see things they can't even imagine, and you ask _why not. _That's _incredible, _especially after everything you've had to put up with since you came to Earth. And that might be part of the problem, with some people. If they were in your place, they couldn't imagine being anything but furious with everyone and everything; they'd've been out trying to destroy the whole world just to get revenge for the acts of a comparative few. They couldn't forgive, so they can't believe you would, either."

He snorted softly. "And people call _me_ an egomaniac!"

Roxanne's smile was sympathetic. "Well, you did have that market kind of cornered for a while,"she teased. "But I don't think even you ever lived quite so much in your own head, not even with all the extra real estate you've got in that department. Even if you weren't really just trying to compensate for having had your ego bashed pretty badly when you were a child, a big ego with a big heart is acceptable. A big ego with no heart — that's a real villain, and trust me, you never made the cut. No offense."

For a second or two, the ex-villain put on a show of indignation, which disappeared a second later like a puff of smoke in a gale. "None taken. At least I had the brains to leave that behind when I had a chance for something better." His arms tightened around her, and she could feel his smile when he nuzzled her hair.

She sighed happily. "So, will you eat your supper now, like a good little superhero?"

"Can I have an extra helping of dessert?"

"Only if you finish your supper first and beat me to it."

He laughed, a toned down version of his evil cackle that came out as deliciously mischievous. "Just watch me."

"No swallowing your food whole."

"Spoilsport."

"Hey, I'm just trying to take care of you. With that neck, you could choke to death."

He huffed. "Oh, all right, I won't cheat. Maybe we can just share."

"That's a good idea."

A moment of companionable quiet followed the bargaining process. "So, what brings you here tonight?" Megamind asked at last. "Not that I'm complaining, but I thought you were catching up on some neglected housework all this week."

Roxanne chuckled. "I'd planned to, but when I came home yesterday, I found everything taken care of. I think there was someone eavesdropping when I called Tuesday night and wound up venting at you about how having the anchor out sick at the station was upping my workload and making it impossible to get anything done at home."

"Minion?"

"No, Pinky. There were some telltale signs, like how every bottle and tube in the bathroom was arranged by color, size, and product type. You know she'd follow me everywhere like a puppy if you let her."

"Do you want me to?" was the earnest question.

But Roxanne shook her head. "No, please don't. I like her, really, she's sweet for a bot, but if she got bored at my place, she'd probably start 'helping' all my neighbors, and they're still adjusting to the idea of you coming around without mayhem and kidnapping in your wake. If you really want to let her do things for me, it'd be enough if she came by once a week. That'd be a big help, and not long enough for her to get bored and start looking for extra little things to do."

Megamind thought it an acceptable compromise, and something more occurred to him. "Oh, speaking of Pinky, she found your iPod in the library after you were here last weekend. If I'd known she was going to pay you a surprise visit, I'd've sent it with her."

"I was wondering what happened to it. I thought I'd left it in the news van and someone walked off with it." She smiled to herself, remembering Minion's remark about his boss's playlists. "Did you check it out?" she asked ever so casually.

She thought she could feel Megamind's flushed reaction via an increase in his body temperature. "Well, I looked at it, yes. Minion has one just like it, and I thought it might be his."

"Uh-huh. And you didn't look at any of the playlists or albums?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, I didn't know how else to tell whose it was. You two don't have the same tastes in music."

"Hmm, and neither do we, not entirely. Did you listen to any of it?"

Oh, yes, he was definitely blushing; she could feel the heat radiating from the cheek against her hair. He coughed. "Ah... well... yes, a little. I was curious about some of the things you seemed to like a lot. Is that an... _introozeeon?"_

She smiled as she turned to look at him directly, making it clear that she had no wish for him to let her go. "No, I'm okay with it, so long as you don't start complaining about my taste. I like a lot of the same things you do, but I also like to give my eardrums a break once in a while, and sometimes, I just enjoy quieter stuff. Don't you?"

The alien shrugged unconvincingly. "Sometimes. So you aren't offended?"

She shook her head. "No, I think it's good if we get to know these things about each other, too. Did you hear anything you liked?"

Megamind hemmed and hawed for the better part of a full minute. "A couple of things, yes," he finally confessed. He hesitated again, then forged ahead. "There was one song — from the play count, you seem to listen to it a lot, and I was... sort of wondering why."

"Which song?"

He blinked. "Ah — I don't know."

Roxanne was startled, knowing what she did about his memory. "You forgot? I thought you can't forget."

His expression turned sheepish. "You can if you never know. I never looked at the title, I just had the thing play your favorites." Careful to not disturb Roxanne from her comfortable position, he reached for a remote on the coffee table, snagged it by his fingertips, and deftly flipped it into his hand.

The reporter applauded. "Nice move."

Megamind smirked. "What can I say, I'm good with my hands."

"Can't argue with that," she agreed.

With his thumb alone, the ex-villain pressed a number of buttons with such quick accuracy, Roxanne was a mite envious. Darn ambidextrous aliens. She forgot her envy as music came from the room's sound system — a piano and, appropriately enough, a solo violin, joined a few beats later by other strings, then a clear, low tenor voice.

_Through the darkness,  
I can see your light.  
And you will always shine,  
And I can feel your heart in mine.  
Your face I've memorized,  
I idolize just you._

_I look up to everything you are;  
In my eyes you do no wrong.  
I've loved you for so long,  
And after all is said and done,  
You're still you;  
After all, you're still you._

Roxanne sighed, and not just because she loved Josh Groban's voice, which she admittedly did. "Ah. That song. You're right, I guess I have listened to it a lot, especially these past few months. It — just seems to say so much. I'm not exactly sure how to explain..."

She was surprised when Megamind shook his head. "You don't have to, I think I understand. I was just really surprised by it, the first time I heard it. I _am _capable of appreciating things other than hard rock, you know. But the words to this, they made me think, of me, of you, of — us." He said it with a wide-eyed sort of astonishment.

Roxanne nodded, in full agreement. "That's exactly what I thought. I liked the song when I first heard it a few years ago, but lately, it just seemed to... fit, perfectly, the way things have been going, the way they've been. I didn't expect that you'd feel the same way, though." Her laughter was aimed mostly at herself. "I should know better than to try to anticipate you, these days. You're certainly making up for lost time after so many years of predictability."

He chuckled. "Thank you, I've been trying."

"Hmm, you mean you _were _trying. Nowadays, you're succeeding." She raised her head and kissed him softly, a pleasant sort of reward for success on so many fronts. "Can you start the song over? I'd like to listen to it with you, without the discussion."

Megamind happily complied, thumbing the replay button on the remote before tossing it back onto the table. And as the music began again, they listened together, with more than mere discussion.

* * *

In the kitchen, Minion heard when the music began to play in the living room, and he hummed along as he listened. Ah, so Sir had owned up to poking his nose into the contents of Ms Ritchi's iPod. Good, that made him feel more justified and a bit less guilty about his promise to show her the boss's. He'd liked this song for a long time, but until earlier in the week, he'd never thought he'd hear it being played anywhere in the Lair, except in the privacy of his own iPod. And as he listened to the song begin again, he decided that the reheated dinner, which was just about ready, could wait another ten or fifteen minutes before being served. He was not only sure that the boss wouldn't mind, Minion knew he'd actually appreciate the delay.

_And I've believed in you,  
Although you never asked me to.  
I will remember you,  
And what life put you through._

_And in this cruel and lonely world,  
I've found one love:  
You're still you.  
After all, you're still you._

* * *

_Note: The lyrics are from Josh Groban's "You're Still You" (can be found on YouTube) — maybe not Megamind's usual kind of song, but definitely something I can imagine Roxanne going for. My, what a voice that young man has... More parts to follow!_


	2. Crime and Punishment and Summerfest

_Author's Note: My original intent was to write all four "movements" as thematically connected but otherwise independently plotted shorts; alas, this one got much longer than planned. However, when I realized that the thing could be split up into two parts that neatly fit my general ideas for the "movements," I decided to go for it. So here's the first part - more to come. Enjoy!_

* * *

Second Movement:

Crime and Punishment and Summerfest

"You want me to do _what?"_

Roxanne had considered the suggestion to be perfectly ordinary and reasonable, so she didn't understand why Megamind was reacting to it so extremely — and, from his tone of voice, negatively. The extreme part she understood; it was just the way the blue hero was: openly emotional by nature, which influenced most of his reactions to almost everything. It was the negative part that had Roxanne confused.

"I thought you'd like the idea," she said quite honestly, drumming her fingers on the top of the café table at which they'd just enjoyed a rare quiet midweek lunch on a nice day in mid-May. More often than not, her work as a reporter for KMCP meant that lunch was something to be grabbed on the run when and if an opportunity presented itself, and Megamind's job as Metro City's defender could hardly be said to have a schedule at all, since crises could arise at any hour of the day or night, and much of the rest of his time was spent either creating or maintaining the inventions that allowed him to fill his role exceptionally well. Lately, a lot of their "free" time together had taken the form of attending various events for civic or charitable groups. It was getting to be exhausting for both of them, and even Minion had mentioned that they could all do with a short vacation.

It wasn't unheard of for the city's defender. Metro Man had taken a few days off several times a year, but always at random intervals — except for an agreed upon Truce Week during the early summer, when Megamind had always agreed to leave the city in peace, so that ordinary police officers and firefighters could handle anything that came up in the hero's absence. That didn't mean other would-be supervillains wouldn't try to cause trouble during that week, but Metro Man had usually seen to it that they were behind bars well before the Truce went into effect. Megamind himself occasionally began Truce Week in prison, but he seldom remained for more than a day or two. In many ways, it was a vacation for him as well, when he could take a breather from his otherwise endless plans to defeat his opponent and take over Metrocity.

He and Roxanne had already gone 'round the block a few times over that last point, as well as the possibility that other villains might try to test the new hero's mettle during the former Truce Week, but Megamind had already agreed that there was no real basis for such a concern. With his knowledge of the local underworld, he'd been able to work on ferreting out some of the worst troublemakers even more effectively than his former nemesis. And if he went with Roxanne, the worry that those who hadn't been flushed out would try to get at him through her could be pretty much eliminated.

That tradition, in fact, was a big reason that the reporter couldn't understand her beau's current complaint. "It's not as if you'd be lying down on the job or anything," she pointed out. "The citywide security net is up and running, all the emergency services are plugged in for monitoring. We'd only be gone for five days, and Milwaukee's just across the lake. My boss didn't ask me to cover the whole run of Summerfest, just the opening and the days our local bands will be performing. It's an easy job, and he did it to give me as sort of a little vacation with pay. It's the world's biggest outdoor music festival, they've got lots of different performers, including some I _know _you like, and it's right next door to that Calatrava thingie you've been wanting to see up close. To top it all off, the area's a Harley rider Mecca. It's during the week you usually called a truce with Wayne, so what's the problem?"

Megamind laced his fingers together, settled his forearms on the table, and leaned forward with a meaningful glower. "You want me to _fly, _to take an _aireeoplane. That's_ the problem."

Roxanne blinked, sure she'd heard wrong. "Don't tell me you're afraid of flying?"

The blue head shook. "Not flying. Homeland Security."

The blink became an exceptionally dubious look. "Hey, nobody likes going through airport security these days, but it's nothing to be afraid of."

Megamind snorted indignantly as he leaned back again. "Who said anything about being afraid? I'm not _afraid_ of them, but if you want to travel, we can't fly. Not in this country."

"Why not?"

Now, he sighed, wishing he didn't have to spell it out. Why did Roxanne's reporter skills have to short out on _this _uncomfortable topic? "Because of what I am, or was. I'm a former felon with a record full of what can easily be called terrorist activities that have not been pardoned or purged. Until those unlikely events occur, they're going to take a very dim view of me traveling by air without shackles and a complete escort of federal marshals. Not to mention that they'd be apt to take an even dimmer view of me bringing any of my usual equipment."

"You won't need it," Roxanne declared, certain.

He lifted one eyebrow in exquisite disbelief. "You're sure of that? You said the same thing when we went to meet with the governor in Lansing, and things would've gotten ugly if I hadn't brought at least the de-gun."

She sniffed, all too aware of her miscalculation. "Yeah, well, I guess I should've figured that some crackpot would try to pull something to frame you when it got out that the governor was thinking of giving you a pardon and wanted to meet with you himself before he decides. It's just as well that you did save the governor's life the way you did, since it gave him a good first-hand example of how much you've changed. Didn't you say he promised to have the order signed in two weeks? That's long before we'd have to leave."

"All well and good for anything inside the state, but I still don't think Homeland Security will be too impressed. The governor can pardon some things and commute the sentences of others, but it'll take a presidential level pardon to get all those charges off my back — and even then, they still wouldn't let me take along anything defensive, not even the de-gun."

"What, don't you think you can take care of yourself for a few days without a small arsenal?"

"It's not myself I'm worried about."

Roxanne knew exactly what he meant, and smiled. "That's sweet of you to want to protect me, but I think I can handle myself for five days. It's just Milwaukee, not Beirut. Nothing's going to happen."

"Like nothing was going to happen on that trip to Lansing?"

Now, she flushed. The incident with the governor had been the high point of that trip in terms of superheroics, but not the only point. There had also been the little matter of some half-drunken masher trying to do a little more than just hit on her during a reception dinner that same evening. If the creep hadn't snuck up on her so unexpectedly in the empty corridor to the washrooms, he would never have had a chance to lay a hand on her, and Roxanne liked to think that given another minute, she could've handled the situation on her own.

Of course, she also knew that given another minute, the bastard would've very likely hurt her. He'd been pretty big, a football linebacker type, strong, and with just enough liquor in him to make him reckless. She hadn't cried out, as she'd been attempting — unsuccessfully — to use her own self-defense training to get out of it without causing a major scene, so she wasn't completely sure why Megamind had showed up when he had. He _said_ it was pure luck, that he'd needed to wash up after someone had accidentally bumped into him while he'd just lifted a glass of red wine to take a sip, only to have most of it splash all over him. Roxanne was beginning to wonder if he hadn't started to develop some kind of alien or superheroic sixth sense, his timing was getting that good when it came to her and trouble.

Whatever the case, the new hero had entered the same corridor, had seen what was happening, and had the bastard off her, taken down, and pinned face-down with Megamind's boot on the back of his neck so fast, if Roxanne had blinked even once, she would've missed everything but her beau calling for security to come take out the trash.

She smiled wryly at the memory. "That just proved my point, sweetie. You don't _need _any weapons to take care of yourself, or me. You may not have Wayne's kind of muscle and powers, but you're damn good, good enough to handle anything we might meet at a music festival where there'll be other police and security around, anyway."

The alien wanted to maintain his stubborn attitude, but when she put it that way, he couldn't help but feel deservedly proud of himself. "Oh yes, of course," he said, straightening in his seat, trying to find an acceptable version of confidence that didn't come off as totally full of himself. Among other things, he'd begun to learn that these days, he didn't need to _tell_ other people how fantastic and incredible he was; his actions could be allowed to speak for him, and in fact often spoke much more eloquently. Oh, he still enjoyed opportunities to show off and engage in witty banter, but he was learning how and when to indulge himself in ways that would enhance rather than undermine his image, to encourage people to laugh with him rather than at him. He had to admit, the difference was profound, and he much preferred this new approach. It improved his self-esteem in ways that were real and long-lasting, not temporary and ultimately self-defeating. With that in mind, he allowed himself to preen a little at the well-earned compliment. "There were no weapons allowed in prison, after all, and it would've been stupid to let myself go and rely entirely on technology. It has an annoying tendency to break down on you at all the wrong moments."

She kissed his cheek in both affection and approval. "Not as much as it used to — but then, I guess it isn't as much of a challenge to protect the city as it is to terrorize it."

He smiled back. "Oh, it's just as much of a challenge," he assured her. "More, really, because it requires more... sutlery?" He knew there was some part of the word he was looking for that wasn't pronounced the way it looked.

"Subtlety," she provided.

"Suh-tul-tee," he repeated carefully. "Extravagant presentation is _so _much easier, but I don't think the citizens would like that kind of reminder that they're being looked after on a regular basis."

Roxanne agreed. "Save it for special occasions, good idea. I have to tell you, though: I'm starting to think that you _do _have some superhuman powers, too, more than just a few extra-sharp senses and a big brain. Even Wayne couldn't've handled that creep any faster."

Megamind's large, vaguely pointish ears turned a slightly brighter purple-pink than his cheeks. "I've always had good reflexes," he rationalized, both embarrassed and flattered by her observation. "But I do have to admit, I never really tried very hard to explore those possibilities beyond the obvious ones. I couldn't fly or lift buildings or have invulnerability like Wayne, and those were the areas where I needed to find some kind of advantage over him. Being agile and quick with acute senses couldn't compensate, not without technological augmentation. Other than my intellect, what 'powers' I have are really only noticeable as 'super' in comparison to human ability, better than average but nowhere near as extraordinary as Wayne's."

"Or it could be that because you're from different planets, you have different developmental cycles," the reporter speculated, not wanting to let go of the idea now that it had sparked. "Even among humans, it can be like that. Some people are prodigies from birth, others have tremendous skills that don't reach their full potential until they're older. Being bad might just have been the wrong way for you to go to find out all you're actually capable of doing."

The genius pondered this for a moment. "I suppose it's possible," he finally allowed. "But if I _do _have superpowers, I haven't noticed them, yet. And it's beside the point, right now. I don't see how I'll be able to get around the TSA, even for a short flight."

Roxanne turned thoughtful. "Are you serious about the shackles thing?"

Though he hated it, Megamind nodded. "It's SOP for traveling felons. If it's necessary to move them via commercial carriers, they usually allow them the dignity of wearing normal clothing, but that's really for the comfort of the other passengers. Don't want them freaking out, knowing they've got a convict on the same plane, you know."

As a reporter, Roxanne did know these things, but she had never really thought of them as applying to the Megamind she now knew, the earnestly reforming hero. She thought some more, toying with the edge of her napkin as she did so. "But you're not in prison, anymore; at the very least, you're on a very lenient parole. There has to be some way to work this out."

He shrugged. "The easy way would be to take the hoverbike across the lake. It's within range..."

"With luggage? I can't stuff my on-air clothes into a duffle bag — and don't even suggest dehydrating them! You know how they came out when we reached Lansing: one big soaking wet knot."

The ex-villain winced, remembering that little "experiment" all too well. Roxanne hadn't been that annoyed with him in months, not since he'd sent her a "surprise" at work on her last birthday, and the delivery brainbots had stuck around long enough to chew up half the wiring in the station's main studio. He _really _had to sit down one of these days and work on the flawed algorithm that made some of the bots so fond of gnawing on things. "Isn't anyone else from KMCP going?" he wondered aloud. "A camera operator or someone you could send your things with?"

She shook her head. "The network affiliate will have a crew there for the local station, and they'll handle the camera work for my interviews between their own reports. I don't suppose you could get past airline security with a disguise..."

"Not unless you're suggesting I break the law and use false IDs. If we do get there, I'll try to use a disguise just to avoid the inevitable problems of being recognized. But using it to get past airport security would _really _tick off the TSA, and I'd like to avoid going back to prison, thanks. We could use the Lake Express ferry, I suppose, but neither of us has a vehicle that's exactly low profile — or it's _too _low profile, with the Invisible Car in stealth mode."

Roxanne chuckled ruefully. "Yeah, that can be a problem. Years ago, Wayne tried using the old ferry just to experience how normal people travel, and he made the mistake of taking his parents' Bentley. He should've just gone and rented an ordinary car..." The memory made something click in her mind, and she suddenly grinned. "I think I have the perfect solution!"

Megamind had been paying enough attention to the current Wayne anecdote (which he often tuned out) to follow her train of thought. "What, charter a flight? Or rent some nondescript rust bucket car?"

"Close — but this is even better. C'mon, I don't need to be back at the studio right away, and I think we should go pay a visit to an old friend."

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Wayne Scott, currently operating under the dubious stage name of Wailin' Wayne the Music Man, said to his former pseudo-girlfriend and his ex-rival after Roxanne had driven to his hideout near the dune-edged shore of Lake Michigan. If it hadn't been for the fact that he enjoyed even riding in the Corvette he'd given her some months ago, Megamind would have asked to be dropped off as soon as he realized she was heading for the retired hero's place. Although he wasn't as angry with Wayne as Roxanne still was, the blue genius preferred to limit their contact, knowing that when the three of them got together, Roxanne could be counted on to blow her top if the meeting lasted for more than five minutes. She was still furious with Wayne over his chosen method of "retirement," and the fact that only his parents and certain authorities knew that he was still alive. As far as everyone else was concerned, Megamind was still responsible for Metro Man's "death." While some people were willing to shrug it off as an inherent danger in the superhero biz, others were not so forgiving. And until Wayne came up with a way to clear Megamind of the as-yet unpressed charge of murder, she was not about to let the ex-Metro Man off the hook.

Now Scott, having listened to her proposal while he fiddled with some of his sound equipment, was considering the matter. "You want me to contact my folks and have them arrange to have one of the Scott Corporation's jets fly you to Milwaukee at the end of June, then bring you back a few days later." When Roxanne confirmed it, he made a face of complete befuddlement. "Why? Are all the flights booked already?"

The reporter wasn't the only one to roll her eyes. For someone with vast superpowers, Wayne could be about as bright as a half-watt bulb. "No, it's like I told you: this is just to make things easier for Megamind. Maybe you can up and fly yourself wherever you want, whenever you want, but the rest of us have to deal with little inconveniences like ordinary jets and the TSA."

One could see Wayne translating the acronym. "Oh, the security guys, right. But hey, that shouldn't be a problem anymore, right? My little buddy here's a hero, now."

"Technically," Megamind corrected. "Officially, I'm still a felon, until my records are purged."

"Oh. Yeah, right. So you don't think airport security would make an exception for you, huh? That sucks."

"It'd suck a lot less if _someone_ would publicly clear him of Metro Man's murder," Roxanne observed with a sharpness that could slice through steel.

Wayne laughed nervously. "Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm working on it. Do you think anyone would buy the idea of a twin brother or a super-clone?"

Dead silence.

He coughed. "Guess not. Okay, I'll keep working. In the meantime, I guess it wouldn't be a problem. I was thinking of asking my folks if I could use their private jet to send some of my stage equipment on ahead of me, anyway. It wouldn't be any trouble to let you guys hitch a ride."

His guests exchanged horrified glances. "You're going to be performing at Summerfest?" Roxanne asked, a mite uncomfortably.

"Their standards _really_ have fallen," Megamind muttered to himself.

Roxanne heard enough to elbow him; if Wayne did, he didn't react to it. "Yeah, just a one-time gig on the Music Groove Stage — not the main act, but, hey, even an ex-superhero has to work his way up the scales of music, right?"

The new hero did a commendable job of suppressing his gag reflex at the bad joke. Roxanne's eyes narrowed — at Wayne, not Megamind. "What night?"

"When else? Monday, the Fourth of July, 5:00 p.m., local."

A collective sigh of relief was loosed by the guests. "Good, we'll be gone by then," Megamind said as an aside to his girlfriend.

"Say what?" Wayne asked, distracted once again by his sound system.

The blue alien cleared his throat. "I said good, you'll be done by ten. Can't have your younger fans out after curfew."

"Nah, I'll be finished by six," the wanna-be musician lamented. "I couldn't pull enough strings to get the prime time gig, not without blowing my cover."

He cocked his head to one side, considered his last sentence, then guffawed. "Pull enough strings — say, that's pretty funny, isn't it? Maybe I should think about adding some comedy bits to my act, it'd sure be a new twist, comedy rock 'n' roll! Hey, what do you guys think of this one? Two musicians walk into a juice bar, and the second one says— guys? Hey, Roxie? Megs? Where'd you two go? Guys? Aw, crab nuggets!"

* * *

"I am _so _glad he isn't traveling with us," Megamind told Roxanne six weeks later, on the morning they departed for the music festival. "If he's getting to be an example of what happens to superheroes' brains after they retire, I will _never _leave the business! And he used to be so _good_ at the witty banter!"

Minion had decided to skip the music festival, partly because he felt the two needed some time alone, as a couple, without any possible intrusion from him. He was also genuinely interested in attending the Metro County Fair, which was being held that same week, with an eye toward possibly entering a few of his more imaginative creations in next year's needlecraft and textile competitions. Roxanne offered to give the piscine the day off and instead drove herself and Megamind to the Scott Corporation hanger at Metro Regional Airport. She had been shocked to see her beau when she arrived at the Lair to pick him up, not because of his mostly normal attire — black jeans, black boots, and a silver-studded black leather biker jacket with an upturned collar and an unzipped front, under which he wore an electric blue t-shirt with his own lightning bolt logo, a popular tourist item in local shops. It was the rest of him that she found shocking.

During the weeks since the trip had first been planned, Megamind had been hard at work coming up with a composite image on the holowatch that would turn his normal appearance into something distinctly human. He had played around with just about every skin tone known to _homo sapiens, _tried out various colors and styles of hair, head shape, body shape, different facial features, the works. What he'd finally settled on was startling: it was still _him, _his face, his features, but in ordinary Caucasian skin tone, the head still bald but of human dimensions, the ears smaller and rounder, and the overall body shape normal, just a slight bit thicker so that he appeared to be a short, fairly skinny human male rather than the still short but extraordinarily slender humanoid male he was. As usual, his eyes were the same striking emerald green, a bit large, but not unusually so. He had also kept his black hair color, as well as his neatly trimmed goatee.

It had taken a few minutes for Roxanne to adjust to the differences, and though she found them acceptable for a necessary human disguise, she also decided that she preferred his true appearance, and told him so. He had been so pleased by both her approval and her preference for the real him, he had foregone any complaints he had had over the need to accept this favor from his old nemesis. She smiled at his remark concerning Wayne's recent exchange of wit for truly lousy puns and lame jokes. "I think it's just a phase he's going through," she opined. "He's trying to find his path, just like you did when you were a kid. He's going to make some mistakes along the way. You of all people should know that."

Megamind murfled. "I do, but _you _of all people should know how _annoying_ those mistakes can be!"

She laughed. "Yeah, well, just so long as he doesn't get the idea that kidnapping his audience is the way to go..."

"Ha! Any bets the strings he pulled were made using the gold standard?"

"Oh, no, I don't make sucker bets! Metro Man may have been heroic, but Wayne Scott is definitely used to greasing the wheels of life with favors, monetary and otherwise. That's part of why I leaned on him instead of suggesting you buy your own plane. He _owes _you, and me, and it's time he learns how it feels to be the one returning the favor."

"Well, good luck with that!"

Roxanne grinned mischievously. "Trust me, sweetie, he'll learn. Unless the audiences are tone deaf and tasteless, he'll learn. Summerfest isn't a club in Metro City, it's a legitimate venue for some pretty big acts. He may not be on the main stage, but he'll be heard, and he picked a day when the place is usually packed, and a time that's early enough so he can't count on the audience being a little too wasted to hear well."

Megamind's answering smile was wicked. "That's true. Maybe we should stick around an extra day to watch him crash and burn."

"Not unless you brought a second holowatch for me. He'd spot me in a second without it, and I don't want to get stuck having to choose between encouraging him and lying."

"Coward."

She stuck out her tongue, then laughed again. "You bet. If he didn't have the sense to listen when I told him he stinks in private, he can just take his lumps all on his own, in public. Besides, you know we both have to be back on the Fourth. The city's been looking forward to your first _legitimate _Independence Day Light Show and Incendiary Extravaganza."

Megamind knew that the latter was quite true, as he'd been planning the show and looking forward to setting it off for literally months. He couldn't really complain about her attitude toward Wayne, given how much slack she'd been willing to cut him in recent months, and how vehemently she'd gone to bat for him against his detractors to help remove the obstacles in his path toward a more positive future — Wayne Scott included. His sigh was one of both resignation and pleasure. "Well, at least I have the common sense to keep my practice sessions out of the public eye."

Roxanne chuckled. On the same night that she'd first been exposed to his novice efforts on the violin, she'd told Megamind that she'd overheard, and while he'd initially been mortified, she had kindly refrained from teasing him about it. He'd almost given it up right then, but after taking some time to calm down and find better instruction manuals and videos to study, he'd gone back to it. It had been almost five months, now, and when Roxanne had asked only a week ago how things were progressing — the first time she'd brought it up since that night in early February — he'd been willing to let her listen. He readily admitted that he had a long way to go to achieve any real degree of finesse and musicality, but she'd actually been pretty impressed. Not only did she actually recognize the simple tunes he was able to play, but as near as she could tell, he was accurately on key and in tempo, if not yet very polished with his technique.

Now, she smiled. "So you don't think you're ready for Carnegie Hall just yet?"

He snorted. "Practice makes perfect, as they say, and unlike Mr. Perfect Hair, I know I need a _lot _more practice. Next year for sure," he added with complete confidence.

Wisely, she did not argue.

* * *

Late June in Milwaukee was, for all intents and purposes, a meteorological crap shoot. Depending on the caprices of the jet stream and surface winds, the weather could be hot, cold, wet, dry, sunny, cloudy, windy, or in some cases all of the above on the same day. It was a local joke that if you didn't like the weather, wait five minutes and it would change. Until Lake Michigan managed to achieve its maximum water temperatures — which was generally in July or early August — it could act like an open refrigerator when the wind came from the east: pleasantly cooling when the weather was hot, or annoyingly chilly at a time of year when people who were sick and tired of cold winters and drab springs were ready to bask in warmth and sunshine.

Fortunately, the day of their arrival was blessed with a southwest wind, strong enough to overcome potentially cooling easterly breezes at the lakefront festival site. The sun was out, the day was quite warm, and rain was not predicted for another day or two. Roxanne had made the arrangements for a rental car at one of the agencies outside the terminal, to spare Megamind any need to produce a false driver's license that showed his current appearance rather than his real one.

The hotel at which they would be staying was in the heart of the downtown, not quite within sight of the festival grounds but within easy walking distance. Roxanne used a company credit card to pay for the rooms, saving Megamind yet another need to positively identify himself. When she had made the reservations, Megamind had suggested, for the sake of her career, that they get separate rooms, to which she agreed so long as they were adjoining. She was willing to make some concessions to public image for the sake of her job as well as for his slowly growing acceptance as a hero rather than a villain, but she was not willing to sacrifice their personal relationship to it. In Metro City, it was widely known that they were "an item," but until he had been cleared of the many negative issues still hanging over his head, the ex-villain was unwilling to do anything that had even the slightest chance of reflecting poorly on Roxanne. The hotel was of the kind that was used to dealing with celebrities and their needs, so the staff was quite willing to be discreet. They only asked that the guests sign the register as a formality, and Roxanne had been surprised when the alien did so without hesitating. Curious, she glanced to see what he'd written before they were shown to their rooms.

"Michael Black?" she asked when they were alone together, looking out the window in his half of the connecting rooms, which had a beautiful view of the lake along with the parks and buildings at the shore.

Megamind merely shrugged. "It's an alias I've used before. People called me Blue when I was a kid, and since there are plenty of Blacks, Whites, Browns, Greens, etcetera, I didn't think anything of it — though I've never heard Blue used as a last name in English. Black seemed appropriate, if I didn't want it to sound... suspicious."

"But why Michael?"

"Why not? It starts with the right letter, and it's common enough. Or don't you think it suits me?" He lifted his chin in a challenging manner.

"It's fine," she admitted with a chuckle. "Oddly enough, it does sort of suit you."

He smiled quirkily. For a moment, he considered telling her more — how the Earth name was actually very similar to his real name, which she did not yet know — but he decided against it, for now.

The festival was due to open late that afternoon; before that, Roxanne was scheduled to meet with the local network affiliates with whom she would be working to do her brief news spots and interviews. They met at the still-closed festival grounds, where the local crews were doing set-up for their own reports. Megamind, who had no desire to hang about idly (when he was really itching to tell the so-called technicians what an inefficient job they were doing) wandered away and instead spent his time ogling the Calatrava-designed Art Museum that loomed not far beyond the north end of the park.

He watched intently as the _brise soliel _— the huge white wing-like "sails" that spread over ship-inspired pavilion — was slowly retracted for the day, as the western winds had picked up during the afternoon. The architectural engineering of the entire design was a work of art in itself, and Megamind appreciated the beauty of its precise yet elegant workmanship more than many would have suspected. Wistfully, he wished that he hadn't promised Roxanne that he would leave his own work of engineering art — the de-gun — at home, as he felt rather naked without it in such unfamiliar surroundings. When the display was done and the white building had folded its 'wings' for the day, he made a mental note to check the museum's operating hours so that he could get a look at the interior, then wandered back to where Roxanne was almost finished with her own business.

As he lingered on the periphery of the busily working television crews, the alien's thoughts were so distracted, he didn't notice a blond young man who had been watching him. "So, are you with Ms Ritchi?" the fellow asked, startling the preoccupied genius out of his reverie.

Megamind blinked at him, wondering how he'd allowed himself to be caught woolgathering. "Ah — yes, I came with her. But I'm not a reporter."

"Didn't think so. I'm Tom Mueller, I'll be doing her camerawork while she's here. You're Megamind, right?"

Now, the alien was slightly more than startled. He took a quick glance at his left wrist, which showed the holowatch still active, his skin the ordinary human flesh tone of his disguise. Had the rest of it failed, somehow?

His shock must have been plain on his face, as Tom chuckled. "Don't worry, your cover isn't blown. Ms Ritchi told us you'd come with her, and just 'cause we live on this side of the lake doesn't mean we never hear things. I was with a crew covering a conference in Metro City last month, and I saw some of the local news pieces on you. Pretty wicked, a lot better than the usual kind of stuff we get here."

"Uh — thank you?" Megamind wasn't quite sure if that was the appropriate response.

The blond grinned. "Sorry, bad choice of words there, wasn't it? We've heard all the old news, too, like how some experiment of yours sank half the boats in McKinley Marina a couple years back. I was betting on the wood- and fiberglas-eating piranhas theory, but the investigators said it was a seismic side-effect from illegal underwater weapons testing."

The disguised alien coughed. "Er...it was neither, actually. It was actually a sort of pollutant vacuum test that got out of hand. Neither Minion nor I care for the current condition of the lake waters in the Metrocity area, and I was trying to clean things up so I could take a shot at windsurfing without feeling like I'm swimming in half-treated sewage. Still haven't been able to make it work quite right, but it's only a matter of time."

The cameraman's brown eyes widened. "Oh, so you were trying to do something good, even back then? Sounds like Ms Ritchi's right, you never _were_ all that dedicated to being evil."

Megamind's smile was wry. "Oh, I was dedicated to it," he vowed. "It just turned out that I didn't have a _natural_ gift for it."

Tom chuckled at the half-joke. "That's cool. I wanted to let you know that the whole crew's in on the secret, so if there's anything you need while you're here, just come and ask one of us and we'll be happy to help." His voice dropped to a confidential semi-whisper. "And if you ever feel like skipping the disguise, just give one of us a head's-up first. Wouldn't want one of the other stations getting a 'visiting celebrity spotted at Summerfest' scoop on us."

The startled alien managed to stutter out something on the order of, "Sure, okay," and felt a bit foolish for giving such a lame response as the blond headed back to work. But to be honest, he had never really considered the possibility that he might be thought of as a _celebrity _anywhere outside Metro City and maybe certain parts of western Michigan. A _nuisance, _definitely, and perhaps even _notorious, _but a celebrity? That certainly was food for thought — potentially good food for thought, if it could help others to think—

"Michael? Hey, Michael — Mike — Megs?"

The steadily crescendoing string of prompts was followed by a rather shrill whistle that broke the ex-villain's train of thought and finally got his attention. His head snapped in Roxanne's direction; he saw her gesturing for him to join her. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he complied, grimacing. "Do you _have _to call me that?" he asked, more like grumbled, under his breath.

She smiled charmingly. "If I can't get your attention any other way, yes. This is Curt Schaeffer, he's in charge of special interest stories for the local affiliate. I'm sure Tom told you that I let them know you'd come with me, just in case something comes up while I'm busy with work. Curt was wondering if you'd consider giving his station an interview before we leave on Sunday."

That suggestion put Megamind's thought train back on track. His considerable brow furrowed as he looked at the man to whom he had just been introduced. The fellow was middle-aged with dark but graying hair, on the tallish side, with the sort of face that usually went with a comfortable personality that put people at ease when talking about potentially touchy subjects. It was a type Megamind had learned through hard experience not to trust. "Oh? Why?"

Schaeffer chuckled. "A perfectly reasonable question," he admitted, his voice clearly trained for on-air speaking. "I'm not after an exposé, if that's what you're thinking. This is a music festival, not a public hearing, and you're a guest here. There're people around here who have gripes against you — mostly rich people who had expensive boats in the marina a few years back. If they want to go after you for that, they can do it on their own time — and from what Ms Ritchi's told me, they've probably already been paid restitution and are just being obstinate. I'm only looking for stories that will interest the viewers. Most people hereabouts don't really know who you are, beyond some pretty crazy-sounding stories we've heard from Metro City. To be honest, a lot of folks like the idea of superheroes, especially since we don't have one to help keep an eye on things. And the whole idea of someone who's actually from another planet...!"

He grinned, in what to Megamind was a shockingly honest and friendly manner. "I won't deny that getting even a short interview with you would have our competition turning more than a little green with envy. For myself, I like the whole angle of a guy with a good reason to hate this world turning over a new leaf and actually protecting the part of this rock that hurt him the most. That's what I'm interested in, the new hero who lives across the lake, not the old villain. Just a five or ten minute chat, here at Summerfest, no heavy questions. Ms Ritchi says you're not leaving until Sunday, so there's plenty of time for you to decide, no pressure."

"At least think about it, hon," Roxanne suggested when her beau's face took on an appearance more akin to Minion's, but without any talking. "It never hurts to start making friends in new places."

Megamind studied her earnest face for a bit; his green eyes then shifted to Schaeffer. "I'll think about it," he finally agreed. "You're right, it _is _something _worth_ thinking about, but I don't want to rush into it. I'll let you know as soon as I've decided."

The local reporter nodded. "Fair enough. If you have any questions, Ms Ritchi has my number." He extended his hand in a friendly gesture. The alien accepted the offered handshake, albeit with a trace of hesitation. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Mister — sorry, that doesn't work very well, does it?"

Now, Megamind smiled. "No, but thank you for trying to be polite."

"You're welcome. Enjoy the festival!" With a nod to Roxanne, he left to continue with his own more immediate tasks.

When he had gone, she favored the disguised alien with an inquisitive look. "Well, what do you think?"

"I think he's a remarkably well-mannered person," was Megamind's considered opinion.

"Why, because he tried to call you Mr. Megamind?"

"No, because he calls _you_ Ms Ritchi."

He was completely sincere, and Roxanne kissed his cheek. "Aw, thanks, that's sweet. But what I meant was what do you think about the idea of an interview?"

He took a deep breath, then slowly released it. "Like I said, it's worth thinking about. I just don't want to make the mistake of committing myself too quickly. The last time I did that, I wound up trying to avoid half an hour of questions about our relationship, and whether or not I'm actually _male, _and what 'alien junk' is like — she even went so far as to _inteemate _that I should—" He shuddered from head to toe at the very thought of what had been suggested. He grimaced in a combination of remembered anger and utter disgust even as the holographically adjusted color in his cheeks rose furiously. "I swear, if it'd gone on another minute, I would've dehydrated her, on the air or not!"

Watching him, Roxanne idly decided that she preferred his usual violet-hued blush over this human rose-pink flush. "That was pretty embarrassing, for both of us," she sympathized. "If I'd known Mandy Taylor would sink to that kind of tabloid trash, I'd've warned you away from her. She _used_ to be a pretty solid journalist, at least when she worked for KMCP."

"And do you think this Curt Schaeffer is another 'solid journalist'?"

Roxanne shrugged. "I can't say yes for sure, but I do know one thing: he's been nominated for a Pulitzer, which Mandy Taylor couldn't even manage in her dreams. He's going to be doing regular special interest spots throughout the festival, so if you want, you can watch him in action and then decide."

Again, Megamind paused to think while he calmed down from his remembered humiliation. "That sounds like a very reasonable approach," he ultimately conceded. "Although I'll warn you right now: if I hear him mention one word that even _sounds_ like 'junk' in any of his other reports, the whole thing's off!"

Roxanne couldn't have agreed more, and for now, the matter was settled.

It was evening before the _real_ trouble started.

_

* * *

To be continued..._


	3. War and Peace and The Media, Section A:

Third Movement:

War and Peace and the Media

Section A: War

It wasn't even _trouble, _per se, but rather just a sense that something wasn't quite right, that trouble was somewhere, lurking in the wings, awaiting its chance to make an entrance.

Megamind knew that feeling quite well, since for many years _he _had been the lurking trouble, waiting for the precise moment to make a gloriously evil entrance. _This _feeling, however, was strangely different, almost... well, he didn't usually subscribe to such notions, but the closest he could come to describing it was _supernatural, _possibly superstitious. It was rather like the sensation he'd heard others use, about someone walking over your grave, only without that particularly disturbing imagery. Normally, he would've likened the feeling to the ionic tingle that precedes a close lightning strike, or the faint whiff of butyl mercaptan one would catch just prior to a gas line burst. Of course to _his _nose, that scent was anything _but _faint, and could be a major annoyance in areas where there were many old natural gas lines, and the metaphor wasn't quite apropos, anyway. There was no foul smell on the air (thank goodness, since when the day was even moderately hot, it was prime rotting lake weed season), nor any approaching storm on the horizon.

But something was up; he knew it just as surely as he knew his skin was blue.

Unfortunately, he didn't start to figure out what that day's exploding bomb might be until after the fuse had been lit. Even more unfortunately, he didn't realize that the bomb would be metaphorical — and personal.

He didn't know it; he couldn't have known it. He had been trying so hard to behave himself, to not do any of the over-the-top things that would draw attention to himself, to be as much as possible the ordinary human geek he was holographically designed to appear to be that it never occurred to him that he could go too far. As with everything he did, he'd been giving it his all, even though sometimes, he found himself literally biting his lip and quivering with restraint like a huge bottle of Diet Coke into which a whole package of Mentos had been dropped, then resealed. He'd actually felt proud of himself for not exploding, literally and figuratively.

So he didn't notice the strange looks Roxanne had been giving him while they took in the opening acts of the festival; he didn't see the way she watched him watching Curt Schaeffer conduct his first man on the street interest spots, talking with and briefly interviewing both local celebrities and ordinary festival goers; he didn't even see the way she watched him wander off while she settled down to conduct her own interview with a band from Metro City. All those things had been done at her suggestion, the last offered because she said she knew his opinion of the band (mediocre, at best, more commonly dreadful and not suitable for any ears, human, alien, or piscine) and didn't want to risk having him distract her with snide remarks from the sidelines. She told him to go and amuse himself on his own, but to stay out of trouble so that they could go enjoy a nice dinner somewhere when she was done. He'd promised he would do just as she asked.

Granted, he should've also asked when she would be finished, or he might have told one of the crew precisely where he was going, but he hadn't had a destination in mind when he'd ambled off. He'd first stopped to listen to a decent metal band playing on the Classic Rock stage, but they'd been near the end of their set and there was a longish break before the next group came on. The music in general seemed to have quieted down a little — meaning that the currently performing acts weren't to his liking, even including his guilty pleasures. So he idly meandered about, wanting to stay clear of the place where Roxanne was working so that he wouldn't disturb her with his impatient fidgeting, which he knew could be as annoying to her while she was working as his verbal sniping. Thus, he'd wound up just outside the main gates near the area set aside for motorcycle parking, and the fascinating variety of customized bikes had caught his attention for a while. Talking with some of the owners was interesting, since they were of all ages and from all walks of life, but the whole thing made him wistfully long for his own "bike," which was currently beyond his reach.

Now outside the park itself, he found himself drawn back toward the Art Museum, and made the brief two-block walk to see it up close, at least from the outside. That had been his intention, at any rate, until he discovered that an after-hours wedding was being held inside the main pavilion. It had been a simple matter to scan the image of one of the catering staff and use the holographic disguise to slip inside to get a better look around. Being who and what he was, his curiosity led him to go prowling in places he probably shouldn't have — not among the art collections, but rather into the guts of the machinery that operated the building's giant wings. He was so intrigued by the whole thing from both artistic and scientific standpoints, he totally lost track of the time, and was thus rather shocked when he crept back into the main hall and finally noticed that outside, the sun was setting beyond the tall buildings of the downtown to the west.

Muttering some totally nonsensical expletive to himself, Megamind glanced at his watch and saw that it was already a quarter past eight, long after Roxanne would have been finished with her interview, even if there had been considerable problems and delays. He had a sinking feeling that she wasn't going to be terribly thrilled by this, especially since she'd mentioned that she was hungry and wanted to catch dinner as soon as she'd finished her work. Given that their bodies were accustomed to Eastern time rather than Central...

It had been a long time since Megamind had needed to run as fast as he did now. His attempts at haste weren't helped one bit by the growing crowds clogging the streets, thousands of people who had come to see both the festival and the evening's traditional opening night fireworks display. The situation was exacerbated all the more by the long lines at the gate, and the fact that he'd forgotten to get a press pass from one of the station hands before leaving the grounds. Paying for entrance wasn't nearly as bothersome as having to wait to get back in; more than once, he was tempted to say screw it and try jumping the fence at some less guarded point. It wouldn't be a problem, he'd gone over higher fences before, without trouble.

The problem was the war going on inside him, the instincts of a former criminal at odds with Megamind's genuine desire to reform, to stop the cheating and lying and casual breaking of laws that simply didn't need to be broken. He was better than people had been telling him all his life, better than the kind of person he had been, who tried to prove his superiority not just through his intellect, but through too many acts of petty rebellion and pointless mayhem. He didn't want to be that person anymore, not since it meant the risk of losing all he had gained in such a short time — and yet, he'd just done what the old him would have done, used trickery to gain access to a place where he had no business being. So pricked by a guilty conscience, he waited, as impatiently as many of the others in line, and finally went sprinting for the news pavilion as soon as he'd passed through the gate.

Roxanne wasn't there, of course, but the crew was, setting up for the remote portion of the station's late evening newscast. When Megamind asked one of the workers he recognized where Roxanne had gone, the fellow gave him a confused look, but told him she'd left with Curt Schaeffer to find supper well over two hours ago. The guy had no idea where they'd gone, but he figured that they'd be back soon, since Schaeffer had some prep to do before making a live report at ten.

Needless to say, this did not sit well with the ex-villain. His first response to this news was one of worry; it usually didn't take hours to have a simple meal — and though it began as a simple concern for Roxanne's safety, it quickly took a bad turn in the direction of jealousy. What business did this Schaeffer cretin have, taking _his _girlfriend to dinner? Then it took a twist toward hurt: if she'd wanted to go that urgently, why hadn't she just called him? He had a cell phone, after all, and — oh, wait, no, he'd left it at the hotel, hadn't he? And he was certain he'd mentioned it to Roxanne — well, sort of certain, he remembered that he'd _thought_ of telling her, but he had no memory of actually doing so.

Oops.

Okay, it was back to annoyance. The presumption of that Curt twit, asking out a woman who was already spoken for! He _knew _that Schaeffer couldn't be trusted, his instincts had warned him right from the start! Before long, he was starting to seethe with anger, which somewhere in his head he justified as being in defense of Roxanne rather than the product of his own jealous insecurities. It wasn't so much that he lived in constant fear that she was going to dump him again — although the memory and therefore the possibility still niggled at the corners of his mind, refusing to entirely go away — but rather the fear that his total lack of practical romantic experience prior to the last ten months would lead him to commit some terrible and unforgivable mistake in their relationship. While Roxanne was independent by nature, he was protective both by nature and by habit, having learned through painful experience that what he did not or could not protect, he lost. They had butted heads over this issue more than once, and when Roxanne had told him to go keep himself occupied, he'd known that she was telling him that she didn't need him hanging about, ready to clobber the first person who showed her less than perfectly polite behavior during the interview. He'd accepted her wishes and had backed off, just as she occasionally conceded to his needs and let him be protective of her in public, and not just when he was fulfilling his heroic duties.

But this couldn't possibly be an issue now. He'd gone, done as she'd asked, and okay, he'd the made the mistake of losing track of the time, but that wasn't any reason for her to go running off with another guy — was it?

Megamind would not have admitted it, but one of the big downsides to having a superhuman brain and an extremely active imagination was the fact that given only a matter of seconds, he could look at a situation and devise half a hundred possible scenarios to get upset about, whereas a human might only have time enough to come up with two or three, tops. The fact that Schaeffer was a good-looking, amiable colleague who no doubt had a wealth of experiences with which Roxanne could easily identify was just adding rocket fuel to the already blazing inferno going on in his bald head. By the time Schaeffer showed up — a good fifteen minutes later — the alien's thought processes had gone so far into hyperdrive, it was doubtful that he was thinking quite rationally. It was only some little fragment of streetwise instinct, a deep-seated unwillingness to be hauled off to jail in a strange city, that kept him from wiping the pavement with the unsuspecting reporter's face the instant he set eyes on him. What he actually did do was bad enough: he grabbed Schaeffer by the front of his shirt and hauled on it roughly, so that they were looking eye to eye.

"Where's Roxanne?" he demanded, having somehow reached the conclusion that the man either: A). had taken her somewhere against her will to ply her with extravagances intended to lure her into his romantic clutches, B). had taken her somewhere _willingly_ to ply her with extravagances intended to lure her into his romantic clutches, or C). had followed her somewhere willingly where she plied him with extravagances to lure him into _her_ romantic clutches. The last possibility was too far-fetched and painful to consider, which was probably why the love-struck idiot's genius brain latched onto it like a brainbot on a new wrench and wouldn't let go.

Schaeffer, of course, had no inkling of the crazy thoughts going through Megamind's head. He simply gave the disguised extraterrestrial a blank, unrecognizing frown and tried to pull away, though not very forcefully. Had Megamind been firing on even a tenth of his usual thrusters, he might have noticed that the man's confusion was genuine. "Roxanne?" he repeated, his tone perfectly innocent — though that wasn't how the alien heard it. "Oh, Ms Ritchi. We had a quiet dinner together at the Coquette Café, but we went back to her hotel almost an hour ago. If you know where she's staying, you might find her there."

Taken at face value by almost any other person on the planet, the reply was totally innocuous, but stuck in extreme over-analysis mode, Megamind's brain was scarcely capable of taking even the word "oh" at any value but that which subjected it to sub-atomic level vivisection. He didn't catch the implication of Schaeffer's last words as meaning that he'd gone to dinner with Roxanne, had left her at her hotel like a polite escort would, and that he wasn't saying which hotel it was since he didn't recognize the incognito alien. What Megamind got out of the whole thing was the inference that Roxanne and Schaeffer: 1). had shared an intimate dinner, 2). went back to Roxanne's hotel room, and 3). once there may have engaged in other intimate activities which had resulted in her deciding to check out of said hotel. It wasn't that he didn't trust Roxanne, but in his current state, the ex-villain simply didn't trust anybody else. If he hadn't been so completely horrified by the prospect of what his overdriven mind (and hormones) had patched together, Megamind might very well have punched the journalist's lights into the next stellar system.

Fortunately, insecurity won the contest with outrage, so instead of pummeling the poacher, the bigheaded idiot took off with a sound not quite a shriek and not quite a strangled whimper of dismay, leaving behind a reporter and several others wondering just who the heck that was.

It was about a mile from the Summerfest grounds to the hotel. Earlier in the day, the walk had been easy, as there had been less traffic, both pedestrian and vehicular. Now, with people still arriving for the big fireworks show, both the streets and sidewalks near the lakefront were fairly crowded. Megamind did his best to run around and between them, but for the first few blocks, the going was difficult. This was, on the whole, a bad thing, because the delay gave him more time to think, and thinking brought up a whole new set of horrifying scenarios. He trusted Roxanne, really, he did; he knew that she had class, and wouldn't take up with some good-looking human guy just because she'd been hungry and he'd been late.

Okay, he'd been more than late. Ten minutes was fashionably late. Half an hour was tolerably late. Even an hour was within the bounds of forgivably late, and the excuse of losing track of the time was acceptable. But more than two and a half hours...! What if he'd made her worry that something bad had happened to him? What if he'd made her feel humiliated over being stood up?

Worst of all, what if she was angry?

Just as he finally reached the hotel lobby, he stopped dead in his tracks. Suddenly, finding her didn't seem like the best idea. She might not even be there, or he might see evidence of something he didn't want to see. He could always just slink into his room and hope that time would either present a better option, or make any anger turn to worry. Then again, if she did get worried, the longer he put it off, the angrier she'd be when he finally gave her his lame but honest excuse.

The idea of a reset button abruptly took on a new and more powerful appeal, that or a rewind switch.

He wondered if it was possible for one's brain to actually implode from too much thinking, and suck his entire body into itself like a small black hole. What he really needed was an off switch, for both his brain and his overworked imagination.

After pacing around the lobby long enough and at a speed sufficient to wear off at least a quarter inch of pile, he was left with one conclusion: he had to go up and face the music.

Really, he told himself as he boarded the elevator, why was he so worried? Roxanne was not only the smartest person he knew, she was also one of the most level-headed. He'd made a mistake, but it wasn't unforgivable. That truth was reassuring. After all, she'd forgiven him for three hundred and twenty-seven kidnappings, not to mention the attendant work and social disruptions, wardrobe destruction, and general mayhem. She could certainly forgive him for losing track of the time in a strange city, in a crowded and busy a place he'd never been before.

By the time he reached their floor, Megamind had at last managed to find a semblance of calm. He expected that he'd need to do some serious apologizing, but that was manageable. He was prepared to deal with anger, and any amount of venting she needed to do. He wasn't going to just slink off and try to avoid the situation; he was going to face it head on and take the justly earned consequences of his actions. He took a deep breath, screwed his courage to the sticking place, marched up to her door, and knocked.

Well, more like tapped. He planned to make a confident rap on the door, but at the last second he pulled back, not wanting to come off as cocky. The pitiful little _tik-tik-tik _that resulted was pretty pathetic, even to his own ears. When, predictably, there was no response, he tried again, a bit more surely. The third try finally produced results; he heard the rustling noises of movement on the other side, followed by the soft sound of bare feet on carpeting. Oh, lord, he suddenly hoped his jealous hallucinations of other men weren't actually about to come true...

Then the door opened, and there was Roxanne, looking a bit rumpled and bleary eyed, as if she'd been trying to nap off a miserable headache. She squinted at him, then let out a disgusted noise.

"And I dragged myself out of bed for this," she muttered. "Sorry, buddy, I didn't order room service."

And she all but slammed the door in his face.

For what seemed a very long time, Megamind stood staring at the closed door, mouth hanging open in shock. What was actually only a few seconds later, he knocked again, this time more urgently. This time, the door opened more quickly, as Roxanne hadn't gone more than a few steps away, but her expression was considerably more annoyed.

"Look, I told you, I didn't order room service. Go check with whoever sent you for the right room number, or try reading the doors, next time."

Just as she started to swing the heavy door shut again, Megamind stuck out one arm to stop it, and got himself caught between door and jamb. "Ow!" he shrieked as his ill-padded arm was soundly pinched. "Roxanne! It's me!"

On the other side of the door, Roxanne frowned, puzzled by the not exactly familiar voice coming from a totally unfamiliar hotel staffer, calling her name in a rather familiar manner after giving an entirely too familiar squeal of pain. She yanked the door open again, and the guy in what looked like a waiter's uniform lost his balance and nearly fell face-first into the room. That was a move she knew well indeed, but the whole picture still didn't make sense. "Megamind? What on earth are you up to? Where did _that_ come from?"

He stumbled in and managed to catch himself on the back of a fortunately placed chair. He frowned back, confused. "What? Where did what come from... oh!" When she indicated his appearance with a brusque gesture, he glanced down at himself and finally noticed that he was still wearing the disguise of a caterer. "Just a second," he forestalled, fidgeting with the holowatch to restore his standard disguise. "Sorry," he said as the image settled; distracted, he failed to notice the way Roxanne's eyes narrowed. "Sorry, I forgot I still had that on. That explains a few things..."

"Not enough," he was assured in a crisp tone that made him wince. "Where have you been all this time? And what have you been up to that you needed a new disguise?"

Okay, at least one of his nightmares had been right: she was angry. "Ah..." God, _why _did his incredible brain have to short-circuit whenever he needed it the most? He stammered for a moment or two longer, then managed to get his voice back on-line. _Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth!_ "Well, um, you said I should go amuse myself, and I did..."

Oh, from the look on Roxanne's face that was _not _the right thing to say. "Really," she said so dryly, one could feel the new layer of dust settling over the room. "And what kind of 'amusement' needed a new disguise and took _hours _to do?"

He attempted a disarming smile. "Yes, that, well, it's actually rather funny, but I, uh, went to have a closer look at the Calatrava — did you know that they have weddings there after hours? I didn't, I thought it was just an art museum, but it seems they rent their main hall for weddings, and it's really a beautiful place for it..."

She blinked. "You crashed a wedding?"

"Not exactly! I didn't want to see the wedding, I just wanted to see the inside of the building, and there were all these people going right in, but of course I didn't have an invitation or anything, so when I saw the caterers going in, too, I thought that might be a way to just have a quick look around, since you were busy with your interview."

She snorted. "Quick look? I waited around for over an hour before Curt was nice enough to take me somewhere before I fainted from hunger — and why didn't you answer your phone? I kept trying to call or text you, and nothing, just the freaking voice mail! What'd you do, just ignore it? Because I _know _you never shut it off or let it lose power!"

For a split second, the alien considered trying to play the "weak signal" card, which often was the case in large buildings or near bodies of water, but he knew that Roxanne was well aware of how he'd tweaked both their phones to get around that problem. _Tell the truth!_ his conscience reminded him once again. "I forgot it," he said simply. "Here. I, uh, left it behind after we checked in. While you were unpacking. I was going to call Minion and let him know that we'd arrived safely when you asked me to come help you with something. I set it down and never got back to it before we left so you could meet with your... ah... colleagues."

"Oh, so are you saying it's _my _fault?"

"No! I'm just saying I didn't answer my phone because I didn't have it with me!"

"And did you forget to look at your watch because you didn't have _that _with you?"

He would never know why "Yes!" popped out of his mouth so readily at that particular moment. The way it came out and the fact that it was patently untrue as an answer to her question made it look like he was grasping at any straw of a lame excuse to hide his obvious guilt. "I mean _no, _of course I had it with me, but yes, I forgot to look at it, I just lost track of the time — really, that's all that happened!"

She wrinkled her nose, clearly not very pleased with that explanation. "You just forgot to look at your watch. Tell me, how long did you forget? What time was it when you finally remembered, or did you just wander back and figure the whole world had been on hold for you?"

He winced, knowing the barb was well-aimed, and well-deserved. This was something they'd had issues with before, the way he totally shut out the rest of the world when he went off in his own head, engrossed in some project or other. It wasn't the fact that he could get so involved with his creative processes that bothered Roxanne; it was the fact that for months, he'd been unable to see why doing as he'd always done was a problem. Making the switch from villain to hero had required a lot of hard work, a lot of rethinking and redesigning of his own infrastructures to handle the needs of his new moral alignment. Roxanne had been perfectly supportive of his efforts, understanding the necessity.

But whereas in the past, he could ignore the rest of the world while in the throes of even frivolous creative genius and come back out of his head only when he was ready, things weren't quite so simple, anymore. Once his overly dormant conscience had finally come out of its more than twenty year long hibernation, Megamind knew that behaving so selfishly was no longer acceptable — that it had _never _been acceptable for him to ignore the people who cared about him as if their feelings didn't matter. He'd done it to Minion for years, had always expected that his guardian would be there waiting for him whenever he needed something enough to pay attention to the fact that he wasn't the only person in the world, that the world didn't revolve around him and his needs and wants.

That dreadfully childish part of himself had been dragged kicking and screaming into the light and rubbed into Megamind's nose on the night both Minion and Roxanne had left him. He had vowed never to be that insensitive again, but despite his best intentions, the problem kept resurfacing, every time he let himself get so wrapped up in what he was doing that he wound up disappointing or hurting someone else simply because he hadn't made any contingency plans to counteract his singleminded distraction. Something simple, like setting an alarm to remind him it was time to go meet with Roxanne as promised, or to eat the meal that Minion had been thoughtful enough to prepare for him.

He had to start making changes for the other people in his life if he didn't want to risk losing them again. He knew it, and he had been trying, but all too often, he didn't try hard enough. He forgot to do the simple things like setting the alarm, and instead fell back into the easy pattern of doing what he had always done, following his whims without a care for how his behavior affected others. Sometimes, it was forgivable — like when he was in the grips of a truly major and important inventive inspiration that must be worked upon quickly, lest the creative focus be lost — but most of the time, it was just plain self-centered habit. And this old habit didn't want to die hard; it was going to require repeated major surgeries to be successfully excised.

Megamind knew that this had been one of the purely selfish times, and he couldn't blame Roxanne for being upset. He sighed, shoulders drooping. "I remembered," he said meekly in answer to her last question, an admission, not a defense. "But it shouldn't have taken so long, I did promise I'd be ready to go when you were. I'm sorry, Roxanne, it was selfish of me to just go and do whatever I wanted without thinking about you." He didn't bother to add a weak promise that he wouldn't do it again, because he knew this struggle to be a more considerate person was going to be a long, uphill battle. He didn't even ask for her forgiveness, feeling that at the moment, he didn't really deserve it.

He fully expected some kind of lecture, either an angry one about his thoughtless habits that would never change, or a scolding one full of the many bullet points (and to him, they often felt like bullets, shooting right through his protective and otherwise bulletproof undersuit to pierce some of his most vulnerable spots) of what he kept doing wrong and what he had to do to break his bad habits. After almost ten months, moments like this still made him despair over the possibility that he could ever truly change, despite how much he already had.

But Roxanne didn't lecture, or yell. She was silent for a time, then let loose a huge, frustrated sigh. "I don't really want to discuss this anymore, not now," she grumbled, her anger not gone but suppressed. "I've got a huge headache and all I want to do is get rid of it. Just — go away, Megamind."

He was reasonably sure that she meant _for now,_ but he couldn't dismiss the worrying possibility that she meant _forever._ He gulped, and backed toward the door that connected their rooms. "Right, that sounds like a good idea," he said with an attempt at confidence that came off as more nervous. "Get rid of the headache. I'll just go and let you do that." When he had slipped through the door to the other room, he felt like a total idiot, babbling jittery nonsense rather than attempting to offer comfort. She may not have accepted it right now, but he still should have at least said the words. He was about to poke his head back into the other room to do so when he heard the bolt on the opposite side of the door thrown with a very final sounding _thunk._

He swallowed again, more than nervously. This was going to be a very, very, _very_ long night

_

* * *

To be continued..._


	4. War and Peace and The Media, Section B

_Author's Note: This section might be rated closer to PG-14, no worse. Also, in response to the mention in 1992's review: I am not following the plot line of the comic books in my stories. Comics are often written by many writers, and can present conflicting information from issue to issue. Since I tend to think of contiguous story arcs in my writing, fan fiction included, I'm just following my own extrapolations based on the movie. Onward!_

* * *

Third Movement:  
War and Peace and the Media  
Section B: Peace

Several hours had passed before Megamind was finally able to get his brain back to a state of rational calm, a point where he could assess the situation realistically rather than from over-emotional panic. He understood that while what he had done wasn't good, it also didn't appear to be unforgivable. He knew that Roxanne was not a cliched irrational female, prone to blow everything out of proportion. The truth was, he probably _was _responsible for her headache, since he knew quite well by now that over-prolonged hunger could cause that very result for her. That her body was running an hour ahead of the local time schedule on which her job functioned only exacerbated the condition. She'd told him the interview wouldn't take more than half an hour, after which they would be free to go. All things considered, if he'd gone back after listening to the rock group, he probably would've needed to wait for only a few minutes at most. But he'd let selfish impatience get the better of him, and she'd paid the price. She didn't deserve that, and if she gave him a cold shoulder for the rest of their stay, he wouldn't blame her. He'd be miserable, but he wouldn't blame her.

After the locking of the connecting door made it quite plain that he would be on his own for the rest of the night, Megamind gave brief consideration to leaving the hotel for a while, to take a walk and clear his head, but something told him that would be another selfish mistake. If for some reason, any reason, Roxanne needed him, he wanted to be there, not wandering around an unfamiliar city where there were currently too many people about for his comfort. So instead, he took a shower, changed into his night clothes, and laid down atop the covers on the bed in the dark room.

Through a crack between the drawn drapes, he could see flashes of multi-colored light, accompanied by the booms and rumbles of exploding fireworks. It was a saddening thought, that outside, the city was celebrating, while inside, it felt more like being a prisoner of war. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to think of ways he could possibly make things right again, and finally drifted off into a fitful, uneasy sleep.

He was having a strange dream about running along an empty beach while the skies above were ablaze, not with harmless fireworks but with real weapons of war and mass destruction when something made him awaken with a start, heart pounding. His eyes flew open, quickly adjusting to the dim city glow from behind the drapes that was the room's only light. The fireworks were long since over, their thunder now silenced, but he could hear a soft sound that might have been the breath of the air conditioning systems, but for a familiar fragrance that could be only one thing.

"Roxanne?" he whispered, afraid that he might be wrong.

But then he heard the sound of movement, saw the shadow coming near the bed, then finally, hesitantly taking a seat on the edge to his right. The breath he heard this time was a soft sigh, and the hand that touched his own was soft and reassuringly warm.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, the two words making him lightheaded with relief. "You didn't give me the headache, and I should've just told you to stick around the news pavilion instead of sending you off where there were so many things going on to distract you."

"It wasn't your fault," he was quick to assure her. "I should've known better, too, and I could've let someone know where I was headed when I left the grounds. I didn't think, and I'm sorry that it hurt you. Is the headache any better?"

She nodded. He could see her quite clearly now, as his eyes adjusted to the light seeping past the curtains. She was dressed in a short, silky blue sleeveless nightgown, having left behind her light robe. "It was just hunger, and tension, and a tiny bit of jet lag. I wasn't worried about you, I knew you could take care of yourself, but I... needed to see you after I finished the interview, and you weren't there. I let myself get angrier than I should've."

"But that was my fault—"

Roxanne shook her head most emphatically. "No. The reason I was tense and angry and needed to see you had nothing to do with you wandering off, and I shouldn't've blamed you for it. It was those... idiots I was supposed to interview. You're right, they're nothing but a bunch of no-talent jerks. First they showed up late, then it turned out they were half in the bag, and then they wouldn't stick to the questions. They started grilling _me, _about you and our love life, before they started in with the most foul-mouthed garbage about you being some kind of inhuman pervert and me being an animal-loving slut, and..." She bit off the next words and shook her head again, trying to dispel the memories.

Megamind was shaking, too, but in anger. _"What? _How _dare_ they insult _you, _those pimple-faced, no-talent, brain-dead excuses for wanna-be rotting excrement—!"

When he sat up straight and would have gone looking for the so-called "artists" to wring their apish necks, Roxanne placed one hand on his chest, stilling him. "Don't bother yourself with them," she suggested calmly. "Curt and Tom and the rest of the crew already took care of them. When Curt tried to get them off my case, their lead singer took a swing at him and started a fight. The whole band got hauled off to jail on drunken disorderly, they lost their gig, and the only interview they might ever get from me will involve letting you use them for lab experiments."

The alien grimaced. "You know I don't do that!"

She smiled grimly. "I know, but it was a nice thought, they deserve it. I'm glad you _weren't _there, sweetie. Curt and the others were able to strong-arm them until the police arrived, but _you_ would've taken them out in less than a minute, and they probably would've turned it against you if you'd landed the first blow, which I think you would've."

"Not the first," he promised. "But definitely the second. But if you're glad I wasn't there, why did you say you wanted to see me?"

The reporter hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Because I _still _want to see you, Megamind — _you, _and not a disguise. Between our work and getting ready to leave and one thing or another, I haven't seen _you _for almost a week, and I miss you. After that horrible excuse for an interview, I needed to see _you, _to reassure myself that the guy I love still has blue skin and a big head and pointy ears and isn't just another pink-skinned ordinary human."

"Is that why you were so bothered by that other disguise?" he wondered as he raised the wrist wearing the holowatch, warmed beyond belief by her assertion that she still loved him, as he really was.

Roxanne stayed any further motion he might have made with her own hand. "Actually, I was more bothered that you switched back to another disguise. Even here, where it's only just the two of us."

His laugh was a trifle nervous. "Force of habit, I guess. I didn't want the maid to walk in or something and freak out."

"Another bad habit. Let's nip it in the bud before it gets any worse." With that, she deactivated the watch, then smiled to see her beau's true appearance returned. "Much better," she declared, then leaned forward to kiss him with what only be described as hungry passion. He eagerly returned it even as he felt her completely remove the watch from his wrist and toss it aside, plainly wanting there to be no "accidents" with it. Her hands then busied themselves with the buttons of his pajama top, and, once finished, happily pushed the soft fabric off his cooperative body so that they could touch the extraordinarily colored skin she had so wanted to see. He was perfectly willing to assist her in achieving her goal as he was also delighted to return the favor with caresses of his own, touching, kissing, satisfying their mutual hungers. When her wandering touch began to explore the drawstring tie of his pajama bottoms, however, he gasped and involuntarily drew back.

Green eyes met blue in unspoken acknowledgment of where this was headed. They had been together for almost ten months now, but though the emotional bond between them had grown with astonishing swiftness, especially given the ten years that had preceded it, the physical one had progressed much more slowly. Megamind knew that it was largely his issue, not hers. Fear — of making mistakes, of losing her, of perhaps asking for more than any human would willingly give to an obvious alien — combined with a total lack of experience with members of the opposite sex had hampered his ability to allow things to proceed more quickly. Roxanne knew this, they had talked about it quite frankly, and she had been the very soul of patience with him.

Every step they had taken had been with mutual consent, only when they were both ready for it — really, he had to admit, when _he _was ready for it. He wanted to share anything and everything with Roxanne — oh, how badly he wanted this! — but he could never quite allow himself to forget that he was not of this Earth, while to him Roxanne was everything wonderful and beautiful about it. Every step they had taken, every small act of love they had shared had for him been an expression of complete adoration for the person who had saved him from himself. She deserved nothing more than perfection, and he was determined to make certain he had mastered each step of the way, for her, before moving on to the next. He could not rush this simply for his own gratification.

It never even occurred to him that by this alone, he proved to Roxanne just how much he was finally learning to conquer his selfish impulses and set them aside for the sake of another.

He didn't think about it now. Instead, eyes still locked with hers, he took her hands and gently held them against his chest. "Roxanne," he said, very softly, very tenderly. He swallowed thickly, unsure if there was any point in stating the obvious, but nonetheless feeling a burning need to speak. "You know that I love you, and I want to do anything I can to make you happy. But if we go where I think you're wanting to go..."

She smiled widely, and kissed him again. "Don't think," she suggested. "That's been the problem for both of us: we think too much. Let's just let nature take its course this time, okay? She hasn't led us wrong so far, has she?"

He considered that for a moment, then smiled back. "She certainly hasn't," he agreed, then released her hands so that he could take her in his arms and return the kiss. The eager passion with which she responded at that precise instant woke something inside him, something both exquisite and primitive — not merely lust or even love, but love combined with all the power of a superhuman mind and all its considerable ability to see, to understand, to implement. All that had happened between them before that moment was as fumbling movements in a dark room lit by a single flickering candle. Now, the sun had risen in all its glory, and the path was so clear, he wondered how he could ever have failed to see it.

When it came to Roxanne and his ability to show her all that he felt for her, he had been uncertain, insecure. While he might still be shy and a little awkward at times, he would never be uncertain again.

Keenly aware of all that she had given him, especially in the last ten months, he now gave back, all he could, with all he had, heart, mind, body, and soul. She was overwhelmed by the sudden unleashing of a passion even he hadn't known he possessed, but it was so much more than mere lovemaking, somehow indescribably more than the joining of two bodies and two hearts in love. What happened as they finally took this last step to consummation as lovers was more fiery than even the most incredible incendiary display, and at the same time brought with it the most profound sense of peace imaginable.

It was completion, the yin merging with the yang, two opposite halves becoming a single, perfect whole.

It was the fulfillment of destiny, made even sweeter by the fact that it was chosen, freely, with love, full understanding, and joy.

* * *

When morning came — much too early after the long night of loving they had just shared — Roxanne cracked open her eyes to check the bedside clock out of pure habit. Instead, she smiled to find that her pillow was Megamind's bare chest, the inhumanly soft skin much more pleasing to the touch than even the finest of linens. He was still asleep, and she had no desire to disturb him. She had never seen such a perfectly happy and content look on anyone's face, not even the most innocent and untroubled of babies. She had certainly never thought she would see it on him, not knowing what she did of his difficult life. Always the odd one, always the outcast, always somehow separate, even from his best friend.

But never again. After what they had just shared and experienced together, Roxanne knew that there had always been an empty place in her heart and soul, a void where something had been missing, as if she had been separated from a part of herself before birth. She had vaguely sensed it all her life, as lonely people do, yearning for something she could never find. She had tried, oh, she had tried, but all the relationships she'd had had ended in the same way, with disappointment and the emptiness still unfulfilled.

It was gone now, completely, and savoring all the moments of their lovemaking — in a more complete sense of the word that she had ever considered — she realized that the empty place in her being had been perfectly Megamind shaped, and the removal of the last barriers between them had seamlessly healed it. And she didn't need to ask; she knew even without looking at his joyfully peaceful face that she had given him the same healing. There would certainly still be rough spots on the road that lay before them, obstacles to be overcome in the life around them and even between them, but if they could manage to come together despite all that had stood between them for ten long years — after the literal galaxy of separation that had been present at their moments of birth — they could overcome anything. Of that Roxanne was now certain.

Suppressing a huge yawn, she lifted her head just enough to get a look at the clock, saw that it was not even six, and decided to go back to sleep. She snuggled up against Megamind, enjoying the sensation of his unfairly soft skin against her own, and was just about to settle her head back upon his chest when she saw the green eyes were open, still drowsy but awake, smiling. "Good morning," he greeted in a sleep-dry murmur.

Roxanne smiled back. "It is," she agreed, stretching just enough to place a soft kiss on his lips. "But it's still early, too early to be up after such a long and exhausting night."

"Not exhausting," he corrected, returning the kiss. "Exhilarating. Beautiful. Like you."

"Flatterer."

"No. Honest."

She blushed, and he smiled even more broadly. The smile faded a bit a moment later as he cocked his head. "Did you put out the 'do not disturb' sign last night?" he wondered.

"On my door, sure," she yawned. "I thought I might still have the headache come morning. But we're not in my room."

"Good point." The alien suddenly shifted, kissing the top of her head when Roxanne protested as he slipped out of bed. "I didn't come in this way, remember," he told her as he went to the door, put out the sign, then shut and latched it more securely. "And I just heard what sounds like the maids starting their rounds at the other end of the hall."

"At this ungodly hour?" Roxanne said in disbelief, nonetheless appreciating the view of her quite naked boyfriend scooting over to the door, then returning. Yes, there were definitely many things to appreciate about that slender but strong (and most definitely male) blue body, and if she had her way, it was a pleasure she would jealously keep all to herself.

Megamind shrugged as he rejoined her under the covers. "The hotel is busy with this festival going on, they probably have a lot of odd-hours turnover."

She conceded the possibility as she snuggled up to him again, smiling with delight as his arms went around her. She started to settle into a comfortable position for sleep, then looked up at him as she felt his hands doing more than settling down. The expression on his face was wide awake and so pure and wickedly mischievous, she had a hard time putting the stern frown on her own. "I don't know about you, Mr. Blue," she said with feigned scolding, "but I usually need more than two hours' sleep per night to function."

"Hmm," was his equivocal response. "And when do you need to start work today?"

"Ah — I don't. The next interview isn't until tomorrow afternoon."

"Good!" he exclaimed happily. "Then we can sleep in as late as we want!"

A wry smile crept across the reporter's face. "Somehow, I don't think it's sleep you have in mind right now," she observed, shivering a bit under his touch. "Oh, lord," she managed to add, closing her eyes. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd been doing this kind of thing for years, professionally."

He laughed, not unkindly. "Since I expect you meant it that way, I'll take that as a compliment. But I'm a fast learner, and I've been telling you for a long time that I'm good with my hands."

"Not good."

He paused. "No?"

"No." She sighed in blissful surrender, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer. "Out of this world."

A heartbeat later, they both laughed, then went on to see how just out of this world they could once again be, together.

_

* * *

To be continued..._


	5. War and Peace and the Media, Section C

_Thank you to all the readers and kind reviewers who have been staying with this most peculiar tale. There will be one final chapter after this, to tie together the series as a whole._

* * *

Third Movement:  
War and Peace and the Media  
Section C: the Media

They didn't actually spend the entire day in bed, although they did eventually fall asleep again and stayed asleep until noon. When Roxanne woke again, Megamind was still soundly asleep and she decided to let him stay that way until she'd showered and gotten dressed. She took the risk of lightly kissing his considerable forehead before slipping out of the room, and though he sighed softly and smiled, he did not awaken. She tiptoed back to the adjoining room and eased the door almost but not quite shut behind her. She wanted to muffle the sounds she would inevitably make, but she also wanted to make it clear if he did wake that she had not shut him out again. Before she headed into the bathroom, she turned on the television to check the weather for the day. Highs in the mid-80s were expected with a chance for showers in the evening, so she selected appropriate casual clothes, laid them out on the bed, then switched to one of the music stations, one quiet enough to be soothing but not soporific.

While she went about preparing for the day, Roxanne looked at herself in the mirror and wondered why she just couldn't seem to lose the silly, happy smile, no matter what thoughts were actually going through her head. She'd had her share of relationships with men, good, bad, and indifferent, but she had to admit, this one felt right in ways none of the others had. Why things had changed now...

Well, actually, that came as no surprise. At home in Metro City, there were too many memories getting in the way, too many little things to trigger questions and doubts and uneasiness. Here, the slate was clean, and any questions or doubts were those inside them, able to be viewed without external distortions. That awful excuse for an interview yesterday had proved it. Listening to the idiots from back home, spouting off their narrow-minded opinions on matters they knew absolutely nothing about, Roxanne had seen all too clearly how public opinion could influence even her, a supposedly objective, unbiased professional.

No, even living through the discomfort and anger and humiliation of being a part of the ugliness that had been displayed in front of her colleagues was a very small price to pay for what had come about as a result. She felt happy, truly happy in a profound way she wasn't sure she'd ever known before, and she had no regrets over coming on this trip, even if the remaining interviews proved to be worse than the first. Humming along with the song softly playing on the television, she finished getting dressed and then carefully, quietly peered into the adjoining room.

She had been betting with herself as to whether or not she would find Megamind still asleep. She was leaning toward yes, since he had, as usual, put all his considerable enthusiasm and energy into whatever he chose to do. That she had been the beneficiary in a most satisfying — and exhausting — way made her want to let him sleep for as long as he wished, even though she was looking forward to a day off in which they could enjoy the festival and the city, together.

Therefore, she couldn't be very disappointed when she peeked beyond the slightly open door and saw that he was awake, dressed in his snug black jeans and a closely-fitted black and blue and silver variation of his trademark t-shirt. Roxanne had once wondered how he managed to wear t-shirts at all, between his large head and the notorious tightness of men's crew necks, not to mention Megamind's general preference for exactingly tailored clothes. She'd discovered that Minion altered them for his ward, putting cleverly hidden ultra-thin zippers in the shoulder seams to accommodate his boss's big cranium. The talented fish had done such a nice job with this one, Roxanne couldn't even tell where the things opened, much less that they were there. Megamind was obviously preoccupied with something, so she knocked lightly to announce her presence before entering. She was greeted with a bright smile that was positively infectious.

"I'd skip the jacket if I were you," she recommended in lieu of a hello, seeing his leather jacket draped over the back of the chair near which he was standing. "They're predicting pretty warm weather today, and I don't want you keeling over on me from heat exhaustion."

Megamind brushed away that concern with a wave of one hand. "Heat doesn't bother me quite as much as cold — but I heard the report from your TV, and I think you're right."

"Sorry if the noise bothered you," she apologized as she joined him, resisting the urge to do more than kiss his cheek. She wanted to get out and enjoy the city without any schedules for work, and that would never happen if she didn't show a little self-control. Happily, the alien took his cues from her and likewise demonstrated what for him had to be considerably more difficult — and thus more admirable — restraint. Roxanne noticed that he had been toying with the holowatch, which he now put on.

When she gave him a questioning look that was also a bit wary, he shrugged and explained. "I know you don't like the disguise, but I have to use it, at least a little bit longer. Tom said something to me yesterday about letting them know before I dropped it, so their station could get the — ah — spoot?"

"Scoop," she provided. "It's getting the news about something big before anyone else. Yeah, I can see his point, Milwaukee doesn't have any resident extraterrestrials, not that look it, anyway. And from what Curt told me over dinner last night, you hit the news here often enough to be a bit of a celebrity. Heck, _I _hit the news here often enough so that people know me, and I don't have blue skin and a big head to make me stand out in a crowd."

"Right. And I also think I'll let Mr. Schaeffer have the interview he wanted. I... uh... sort of owe him, that and an explanation for jumping down his throat last night."

Roxanne's eyes narrowed. "You didn't hit him, did you?"

Megamind sighed. "No, but I thought of it. I behaved badly, and I want to apologize."

He was so plainly sincere, the reporter couldn't help but smile and kiss him again, this time on the lips. "You really _are_ learning," she said after she had let the kiss linger as long as she dared, smiling at the look of happy bliss on his face. "Just don't try so hard that you stop being _you, _okay? I kinda like your crazy, over-the-top rock star side, too — just not 24/7."

"Okay," he readily agreed, then blinked as she grabbed his hand and started heading for the door. "Wait a second, did you just call me_ crazy?"_

She shot him a wickedly teasing grin. "Just turn on your disguise and get your blue butt in gear, Mr. Ex-Evil Overlord," she commanded with mock imperiousness. "I am _not _going to risk getting another low blood sugar headache, so we can just discuss your relative levels of insanity over a decent lunch!"

* * *

Their meal at the hotel was pleasant, as was the walk to the festival park. The streets were busy, it now being early afternoon, but not nearly as crowded as they'd been the night before. The visiting couple blended with the other pedestrians without inviting a second glance; those were actually aimed at a group of wildly dressed college-age kids and a pair of hippie/biker types with enough tattoos and unusual piercings to qualify as walking advertisements for every related shop in the Midwest.

Roxanne had wondered from time to time why Megamind, with his decades long pursuit of the ultimate bad boy crown, hadn't gone in for such things, just to make himself look more evil and menacing. He'd told her more than once that he couldn't stand the thought of needles piercing his skin, that even the few childhood inoculations he'd been given had been so terrifying, he would never again let a needle touch him, save for vital medical reasons. It was a strange aversion, since he'd been able to handle getting his butt, and the rest of him, kicked over and over by Metro Man. But where his nemesis hadn't frightened him, a silly little thing like a needle could send him running off at lightspeed, screaming in abject terror. There was something oddly endearing about that little quirk — how the Evil Terror of Western Michigan could be rendered helpless by the sight of a needle nearing his skin — and now, whenever she saw other people so adorned, Roxanne couldn't help but smile.

Despite the warmth of the day, the westerly wind kept the heat from becoming unbearable, but the humidity was also rather high, a sure sign of storms later in the day. Megamind could smell it in the air, more strongly than any human might. But as they entered the grounds — this time with the appropriate press passes, courtesy of Roxanne, who had made sure to pick them up before leaving for last night's dinner — something else impinged on his senses. It was the same uneasy feelings of impending trouble that he'd had the day before, but more intense in some aspects. This time, he knew that it had nothing to do with his personal life. This was something he knew much better, something he'd been acquainted with for much longer than he'd known Roxanne. It was definitely a scent, but one that was difficult to identify among all the other odors endemic to a crowded and busy place on a hot day, where many different kinds of food and drink were being prepared and served.

By the time they'd looked at the schedule of events for the day, decided which groups they wanted to see, and agreed to pay a visit to Curt and the crew after enjoying the first, the ex-villain had already been able to separate the smells of the nearby lake and those of the crowds from the ones that had raised his heroic hackles. Another ten minutes had eliminated strictly organic odors from the list of contenders, but in a place with a lot of power generators, vehicles, and electricity zapping about, that still left too many possibilities.

After another ten minutes of listening to the first band — a decent if new and obscure alternative rock group that certainly had a promising career ahead — his preoccupation with the scent of trouble had gotten Roxanne's attention.

"Hey, hon, is something wrong?" she asked during a lull between songs. "I know this group doesn't exactly do your favorite kind of music, but they're actually pretty good."

"It's not the music," he said after taking a moment to shift his brain into a better multi-tasking split focus. "They _are _good, much better than those Neanderthals you were supposed to interview yesterday. It's just... something's not right. I can't quite put my finger on it."

Roxanne snorted softly. "Well, I have to admit, their second guitar sounds a little off-key..."

But Megamind shook his head. "No, it isn't that — though now that you mention it, several of their instruments could use better tuning. It's — I'm not sure what. Something's fishy around here, and I don't mean the lake, or the Aquarium. I noticed it yesterday, but I thought it was something else. Something that just doesn't smell right."

Roxanne studied his still disguised but frowning face, then smiled. "Are you saying that your Spidey-sense is tingling?" she almost giggled. "I know I've been telling you that you might have some unusual powers you never knew about before coming to the surface, but I didn't mean actual comic book stuff!"

He favored her with an arch look. "Neither did I. When I said that something doesn't smell right, I meant it literally. I keep catching a whiff of something that just doesn't belong in a place like this, something that means trouble. If I could pin down what it is or where it's coming from, I'd be able to figure out why, but there're so many other conflicting scents, it's hard to single out just the one."

The reporter delicately sniffed the air, then took in several deep breaths, trying to see if she could sense anything unusual. "Sorry, sweetie," she said with a shake of her head. "I can barely smell anything but the smoke from the food vendors and the beer that guy over there splashed all over himself. I guess this is something that super-sensitive nose and that super-computer brain of yours are going to have to work out between themselves."

Megamind sighed. "I know, I know, I just wish I could get it a little bit clearer. I'm positive it's something chemical, but all the other odors are masking it."

Roxanne gave his cheek a sympathetic kiss. "Just be glad I decided to skip the perfume today."

"Oh, that wouldn't've been a problem," he said rather cockily. "I know that well enough to eliminate it from analysis."

"Sounds like you've got a little private laboratory going on in there," she teased.

His only answer was a noncommittal, "Hmm," which could barely be heard as the band started up again. The song was a tribute to a local group that had done well some years back, the Violent Femmes, and the driving beat and wail of the music for a little while drove the problem of confusing olfactory information from the front of the alien's thoughts. They moved on to other selections, some pieces of their own, some classic hits from much bigger-name groups, and the energy of both the musicians and the audience was a strange but effective anodyne to Megamind's seemingly answerless headaches.

When the show was over, Roxanne suggested that they grab something to drink before heading over to the news pavilion to talk with Curt, who should be there getting ready for his afternoon man-on-the-street spots. A few clouds had started to move in from the west, but rather than provide relief from the heat of the sun, they only seemed to make things feel hotter and more oppressive. Wanting to make up a little for having been missing in action yesterday, Megamind offered to brave the crowd at the concessions stand while Roxanne waited in a less crowded area near the base of one of the pylons for the sky glider, a kind of overhead cable tram that carried seated passengers across the park and back again in suspended two-seat cars, a popular attraction on hot days as it moved well above the crowded pavement below. As he was waiting his turn in line, a happy squeal from a child on one of the passing cars above caught the disguised alien's attention. He looked up for a moment at the piercing sound, and as he lowered his head again, he caught another whiff of the strange smell, stronger than before.

For a moment, he thought it had something to do with the glider, but realized quickly that the scent was coming from something nearby. He looked around, but saw only what he expected, the concessions stand, parts of other pavilions, the constantly moving crowds. The most notable thing among the last was one of the park's litter-control groundskeepers, who had paused in his rounds to glance up at the moving tram line. Megamind supposed that he had little love for squalling children who were capable of producing ear splitting shrieks, even at a distance, no doubt one of the more common and unpleasant "fringe benefits" of his job. Whatever the case, the moment of more intense smell was there one moment and gone the next, like the trash collector and the glider cars above.

Roxanne saw the look on his face when he returned with the beverage cups, lemonade for her, a considerably sweeter soft drink for himself. "You're thinking again," she observed after thanking him. "Still the weird smell thing?"

Megamind nodded. "I wish I could just pin it down!" he complained, gesturing broadly with his cup and just barely missing a passing teenager's head. He was starting to get annoyed with his nose and his analytical skills for shorting out on him like this. "It's something I _know _I'm familiar with, but...!"

"Maybe you should just put it on the back burner for a while," she suggested soothingly. "It's like a lot of things, the more you think about it, the more you overthink it. Then you just drive yourself crazy and make it harder to put into focus. You'll figure it out, love, you always do, sooner or later."

Her new term of endearment brought a sappy smile to the genius's face, along with the realization that she was right. All the events of yesterday evening were a perfect example, both of the results of overthinking and of letting go. Of course, he all too often wound up figuring things out only after they blew up in his face, but that too could be educational. Unpleasant and frequently embarrassing, but still educational.

The ex-villain conceded with a sigh. "You're right, as usual. It's a problem for me, overthinking, but it's hard to stop when your brain works the way mine does. Best thing for that is distraction. Groveling could provide that. Let's go find your Mr. Schaeffer so I can get the apologizing for being a jerk over with."

As they headed for the news pavilion, they passed the groundskeeper Megamind had noticed earlier, and again, he caught a stronger whiff of the scent that was plaguing him. Really, he told himself, what was he getting so uptight about? The guy was just collecting trash, picking up litter with a long, sharp-tipped stick and putting it into a large plastic bag. It could well be that the reason he couldn't identify the seemingly familiar smell was because it was illusory, an olfactory version of overtones, a combination of the various odiferous things that inevitably pile up in busy places like this, together producing a scent that appeared to be something it wasn't. That could certainly explain why he'd caught it both yesterday and today: the trash was likely to be similar every day of the festival, and there would always be more of it to be bagged up and hauled off.

Reasonably satisfied with that conclusion, the alien successfully put that part of his thoughts aside for the time being, and instead turned his energies to the easier and yet vastly more difficult task of apologizing. Fortunately, Schaeffer was in a good mood, and he found the explanation not only forgivable, but amusing.

"That explains a lot," Schaeffer said with an easy, friendly laugh after the story of what had happened had been told. "Joe and Luther—" He indicated a pair of policemen who were plainly patrolling the area. "—thought it might be one of those crackpots who just love targeting media figures to get their fifteen minutes of fame, though I had a feeling it was you."

When the disguised hero who was currently not feeling all that heroic winced, he gave him a reassuring smile. "I didn't figure it out until after you'd gone, but it was obvious you were worried about Roxanne, and for anyone who bothers to notice, those eyes are a dead giveaway. Nobody human has eyes that green."

Megamind swallowed some of his nervousness. "Then you're not thinking of pressing charges for assault?" His glance slid sidelong toward the policemen.

Schaeffer chuckled at his implication. "Oh, those two are here because our boss is a worry wart, and because I know them outside of both our jobs. They love the idea of real life superheroes, and when they heard Roxanne Ritchi was in town, they wanted a chance to meet her, probably to ask her all about you. I didn't tell them you're here with her, and I certainly wasn't even thinking of pressing charges! I mean, all you did was grab my shirt and asked — well, maybe _yelled _— 'where's Roxanne.' Even if I was crazy enough to think of it, the first judge who saw the case would laugh it out of court. No, we're good, no problem. So, have you thought about that interview?"

Now, the alien nodded. "Yes, and I guess it would be a good idea. I do sort of owe you for last night — not to mention a few of the unkind, and untrue, things I was thinking about you. And if people around here really are interested in things above and beyond the raunchy tabloid trash that's so ridiculously popular back home, I'd be happy to talk about it."

The local reporter smiled broadly. "That's great! I'll see what I can set up for tomorrow, or the day after. Really, the whole thing last night was nothing for you to worry about. After I pieced things together, though, I wondered how the heck you could change the disguise so fast and so completely! I would've expected something that detailed to take a month in a make-up chair, or a few years of plastic surgery..."

Though Roxanne snickered at her colleague's misconceptions, which she had once shared, Megamind heard nothing beyond the word _plastic. _Abruptly, all the thoughts and analysis he'd shunted aside came roaring back to the front of his mind; connections clicked into place at faster-than-light speeds, and everything became clear.

The scent, the trash, the trash collector, the pylon, _plastic..._

Sherlock Holmes would've been proud.

"Plastic," he echoed, then all but shouted, elated by the cascading realizations. "Plastique! _That's _what I've been smelling! C-4, I think, it has that odd dimethyl-dinitrobutane odor to it. Of course! I used it once to — _oh my God!"_

Both Roxanne and Curt had been staring at Megamind when he cried out the answer to his nagging questions — Roxanne in amazement that he managed to get out the long chemical name without apparently mangling it — and thus they saw his face suddenly morph from elation to dread, his eyes gone wide in obvious horror. They were sufficiently removed from the active parts of the festival so that he didn't attract the attention of anyone outside the studio area, but the two policemen as well as several members of the crew became curious.

Suddenly frantic in a way that had nothing to do with pleased excitement, Megamind glanced up at the glider, which while it did not pass directly over the news pavilion _did_ move across some of the busiest and most crowded parts of the park. He then looked in the direction in which he'd last seen the trash-collecting groundskeeper moving, and noticed that he hadn't picked up any of the debris along that path, though his bag had been less than half full. The remaining connections snapped together like metal to a magnet.

He turned back to Curt, pointing to the fully loaded glider. "You have to get those people off that thing, get the others away from any of the support towers and out from underneath it! Make an announcement, drag them away, do whatever you have to!"

The two policemen stepped closer, having heard. "What's this?" one asked, not angrily but clearly concerned.

Megamind explained as rapidly as he could; the words came out in a single-breath rush. "I can smell things you can't, yesterday I got a whiff of this, today it's _much _stronger, there's more of it around — I couldn't place it, but I know now, it's a plastic explosive, it's strongest near the supports for the glider, and I think I spotted the person who planted it! You have to get everybody away from it, 'cause I think he's getting ready to set it off!"

He turned to his girlfriend with a pleading, anxious look. "Explain it to them, Roxanne, please! I have to go after him!"

The two policemen looked at Schaeffer, who looked inquiringly at Roxanne. She nodded. "Go on, sweetie, do your hero thing. We'll take care of this."

Schaeffer also nodded as the disguised alien took off. "Luther, follow him, he may need back-up. Joe, we may not have time to waste with explanations, just do what he said. And Tom—" He glanced at the cameraman, who was currently seated at the control console for their larger set-up.

"I'm on it!" the blond assured him with a thumbs-up, turning to one of the boards even as he motioned for several of the other crew members and Roxanne to join him.

As the police and the media went to work behind him, Megamind sprinted off in the direction he'd last seen the groundskeeper moving, south, toward the currently empty amphitheater, where the big name evening shows performed. The south gate at that end was near several parking lots beneath the arching freeway bridge above. In the shadows under the bridge's roadbeds, amid the lots packed full of cars, it would be easy for someone to slip away — after their dirty work was done. Megamind had no doubt that this was the "groundskeeper's" intention, for that part of the park was also well within sight of the glider's south end. Bombers, in his experience — both personal and observed — generally wanted to stay close enough to see the initial results of their handiwork, especially when the object was to cause chaos or to kill. He had personally never had the latter goal, but he'd known many others who had.

Of course, this was still speculation on his part, based on the fact that C-4 wasn't something ordinarily found around crowded parks. As he ran, he spotted the limp shape of the half-full plastic garbage bag, and he stopped only long enough to test his theory. Sure enough, he had no trouble catching traces of the explosive's scent, especially where the neck of the bag had been twisted and crumpled from handling. That discovery galvanized him, and he raced on, again moving ahead of the officer who had been trying to catch up with him.

_There. _In the wide area between the south gate and a number of smaller kiosks and pavilions lay one of the many small sparsely wooded areas that dotted the park, providing a bit shade and green where there had once been only bare beach and pavement. In the dappled shadows beside the trunk of a tree crouched a man-sized shape in a familiar uniform. He was facing the southern end of the sky glider some thirty or forty feet away, the long, sharp-tipped litter stick set aside but not discarded while his hands were busy with something that looked suspiciously like a small wireless switch box. An errant gust of the rising winds streamed around and between structures and people alike, bringing a curl of air from the tiny patch of woods, a wisp that carried the distinctive scent of the explosive. Yes, definitely right on target.

In general, Megamind had little use for milling crowds of humanity, as they had always had an annoying tendency to get in the way of things that needed to be done. As an audience at a rock concert, fine, and as witnesses to a glorious victory, wonderful, but since he had known far many more years of ignominious defeat...well, he still wasn't quite comfortable with them, particularly since these days, they ran the risk of being innocent bystanders to be hurt by the acts of criminals who didn't even know the meaning of the word _morals._ But today, they provided a useful screen of sorts, to hide his approach from the would-be bomber. That the alien was also behind a human disguise that would make him but another short member of the masses was also an asset.

The downside was the fact that they _did_ slow him down, sufficient for the officer following him to get close enough to see where he was headed. Megamind didn't know it, but Luther had heard everything he'd said about plastique and getting people off and away from the glider, and had figured out the problem. He'd been too busy running after the incognito alien to contact anyone else, but when he saw the person crouched under the trees, facing the southern end of the glider's loop, he understood where Megamind — who, as far as he knew, was just some _really_ fast guy his friend Curt knew — was going, and why. And he could also see that the crowd of people entering from the gate and those headed to a nearby stage were making it difficult for him to get there quickly. So he did what any beat cop would've done when confronted with a need to clear a crowd: he gave a loud, shrill blast on his whistle.

It did get the crowd to stop moving enough for someone small and nimble to weave through them much more easily.

But it also got the bomber's attention, and, when he saw the policeman headed in his direction, it literally pushed his hand.

The roar of an explosion that was much, much too close was like kicking in the afterburners to Megamind. He hadn't known he could move as fast as he did in the next few seconds, and he didn't stop to think about it. All his attention was focused on one thing: getting to the bomber before he threw the next switch. Knowing the art of demolitions as well as he did, there was no doubt in his mind that more than one charge had been set; it would be the most effective way of bringing down such an attenuated structure without the charges being so obvious that they would be discovered. He didn't hear the screams of the crowd, nor any shouts for help. He almost literally flew over the remaining distance between himself and the bomber.

In his state of hyper-focus, time seemed to slow, so that every important move, each crucial angle, each necessary move became crystal clear. Taking out the bomber wasn't as critical as taking out his detonator.

Still some distance behind him, Luther was frantically whistling and gesturing for the crowd to scatter, looking for all the world like a latter-day Moses attempting to part a sea of people. They moved aside as the bomber was arming the second detonator. Now free of interference, Megamind sprinted the last few steps, managed to spring high enough to grasp a low branch of one tree, then swung himself so that both booted feet squarely struck the detonator and sent it flying, well beyond the bomber's reach. He himself also kept flying, but he was able to roll land more or less on his feet, albeit in a squatting position. Something told him he didn't have the luxury of taking a second to catch his breath, and he was up and pivoting just in time to see the spear-tipped litter stick come swinging his way.

With a gasp of surprise, the alien twisted to avoid the slashing blow, but not quite as much as he should have. He'd forgotten he wasn't wearing either leather or his usual protective undersuit, but rather an ordinary short sleeved t-shirt. The very tip of the metal stick sliced his left arm, sending a jolt of unexpected pain through him. The bomber swung the long stick again, lunging forward in his attack. To avoid the wide swings of the sharp tip, Megamind jumped backward, arms flinging out to keep his balance—

—and his left wrist struck one of the tree trunks, hard enough to smash the watch upon it. There was a brief flash and flicker as the holographic disguise failed, followed by a shocked cry from his opponent as the ordinary human he'd been fighting suddenly became... something else.

Megamind didn't stop to think about why the bomber pulled back and hesitated for an instant; all he saw was an opportunity, and he took it. He struck the shaft of the out-thrust litter stick, driving it down until its point hit the ground; then, treating it as if it was some kind of peculiar springboard, he used it as an Olympic gymnast might to execute a perfect ten vault. The momentum to launch, however, came from his own greater-than-human speed and agility; as he leapt, he twisted in midair to bring himself up and over the bomber. He struck the man's shoulders feet first, bearing down with his entire weight to drive him face first into the mulch-covered dirt. He then brought one knee to the back of his opponent's neck, putting pressure in just the right spot to keep him pinned while his other booted foot slammed down on the hand still holding the stick, disarming him.

The alien finally took a moment to catch his breath as Luther and several other police and security guards arrived. He looked up when they came charging in. "Don't let him wash his hands or try to rub them on anything, or even bite his nails," the ex-villain recommended as Luther was bringing out a cuffing strip and one of the guards went after the detonator. "He has traces of C-4 on them, and his clothes; I can smell the stink from here."

"We'll take care of it," the officer promised as he and another pair of officers came to take the dazed criminal into custody. Megamind stood up to give Luther room to cuff the bomber; he found himself putting out one hand to steady himself on a nearby tree when a wave of dizziness washed over him. _Stress aftershock?_ he wondered. Luther saw his momentary unsteadiness and called back over one shoulder. "Rob! Get your first aid kit over here, pronto!"

Megamind blinked down at him, puzzled. "I don't think I hit him hard enough to break anything," he pointed out. "I have some advantages in speed and agility, but super-strength isn't one of my talents."

"Not for him," the officer said, nodding toward the ex-villain's arm. "You."

"Me?" The green eyes followed where Luther's dark ones led, to the exposed part of his left arm, and the long gash that was bleeding entirely too freely. "Oh," he said a bit stupidly, feeling strangely detached from the sight of the slightly purple-tinged but otherwise all too human-like red blood against his blue skin. It had run from above his elbow down to his wrist and over his hand. He lifted the arm, gingerly, as the movement made the slice hurt. "There goes another holowatch," he lamented, frowning at the ruins of the device still strapped to his wrist.

His peculiar non-sequitur, typical of anyone a bit shocky, elicited a chuckle from Luther as an EMT with his first aid kit and a group of others arrived. The medic started tending to his injury while Megamind picked out the familiar faces: Roxanne, who was beaming with pride as she came to join him, Schaeffer, who had the delighted look of a man who has just won a huge wager, and Tom, who was carrying, and still using, a portable video cam, giving the now-revealed alien his own wide grin.

Roxanne kissed his cheek as she joined her beau, staying out of the way of the medic tending to his arm. "You saved the day," she said with both pride and affection. "I'm so proud of you, figuring things out the way you did before anyone else even knew there was trouble."

Megamind smiled back. "Thank my ancestors then, for giving me a nose like a bloodhound. And let me tell you, this is the _last _time I'm letting you talk me into traveling without _any _of my gear!" Her apologetic smile was offered with a gentle kiss, so he happily let her off the hook. The sound of sirens from emergency vehicles drew his attention to less pleasant matters. "How bad was it? I didn't get here fast enough to stop the lunatic from setting off the first charge."

"It damaged two of the support towers," she told him, "enough to crack and bend them and send a few pieces of debris flying, but the cables didn't snap. It scared the heck out of the crowds on the ground and the people in the cars nearest the explosions. There were a few minor injuries, but nothing serious, and the fire and rescue squads will be getting everyone down as quickly as they can. It could've been a lot worse, and if you hadn't told us to start clearing the area and then stopped this guy, I'm sure it would've been. The police investigators will figure out who he is and why he did it, and just how bad things could've been. But you're a hero even without your gadgets, sweetie, and the whole city knows it."

The green eyes blinked, puzzled. "They do? How — oh!" The answer became obvious. "A collusion of nosy reporters?"

She laughed. "Of course, what else? I've been covering your antics for years, so I knew how to work with the video systems that were available. It was Curt's idea, and I think you're gonna love it."

"I hope so. I trust you, of course, but I'm still not so sure I trust other medi—_aaahhh!"_

The EMT tending to his arm gave the blue hero an apologetic look, but did not stop his work. "Sorry, the antiseptic can sting, but I want to make sure this is clean. Most of it isn't deep and it's been bleeding pretty freely, but it's a little ragged, and I imagine he got you with that." A nod of his head indicated the litter stick, which one of the police was collecting as evidence. "I don't even wanna think about the kind of germs there must be on the end of that. Do you have any allergies or medical conditions I should know about?"

Megamind shook his head, impressed by the fellow's ability to sound professional and reassuring at the same time, just through his tone of voice. It was something he'd have to work on for use in his own work with the public. "No, but if you plan to use anything that requires a needle, just don't let me know about it until it's all over!"

The medic — Rob Wood by his badge — chuckled, kindly. "I know how you feel, I'm the same way. And you'd be surprised at how many people have the same issue, I see them all the time in my line of work. I don't think it'll be necessary, not unless you lost a lot more blood — though a transfusion would be a problem, wouldn't it?"

"Less than you'd think," the ex-villain admitted, the post-battle rush wearing off. "I've done studies of my own anatomy and biochemistry over the years, just in case, and aside from the slight color difference and a few dismissible trace elements, my blood is perfectly compatible with human B positive. It would seem that my parents chose to send me to Earth for a very good reason."

The medic's expression was one of curious surprise, though his eyes remained focused on his work. "Really? Wow, that's not what we've been hearing around here, ever since you started making headlines in Michigan. Some of the stories...!"

Megamind snorted, rolling his eyes. "Oh, yes, I know them all. Since I came with a fish, I must _be _a fish, or something aquatic or reptilian, my blood is poisonous, or pure acid, or possibly even non-existent, I'm either asexual, multi-sexual, or some bizarre cross between a bird, an anthropoid, and a squid, I have 'hidden' tentacles — _tentacles! _— for reproductive organs, or I spread 'pollen' like a flower to 'infect' human females with an army of alien spawn, my brain is large because I have the inhuman mind-control powers of some race of world-conquering masterminds and I'm merely biding my time before I use them to take over the world, I'm thin because there's nothing on Earth I can eat without throwing up, I live entirely off of a diet of lab-concocted liquid chemical compounds that would kill a human, I'm not a carbon-based life form, never mind that if I were anything else, I wouldn't have survived on this planet for more than a few days — the list is endless."

Wood laughed at some of the outrageous images the alien described. "So none of it's true."

"Obviously. I'm thirty-five, I'm alive and healthy, and I just happen to display the characteristics of my native race, which, from what I can tell having only myself as an example, came about through normal processes of evolution and preferential selection within the species."

"Meaning you have a bigger brain because your people were more developmentally advanced, and blue skin because at some point in the past it was considered an extremely desirable trait in reproductive selection." The medic glanced up and grinned at the alien's surprised expression. "I studied genetics back in college. Couldn't quite make the cut with all the lab work, but I still keep up with it, as much as I can. So I take it that underneath it all, you're basically mammalian, just like us humans."

"With a few comparatively minor differences, yes. You aren't getting any ideas about alien vivisection, are you?"

"What for? Anybody who'd take apart a living, breathing, unique person who's proof that we aren't alone in the universe needs to have his or her head examined, and then should probably be neutered just so they don't accidentally mess up the gene pool." He said it with such conviction, it brought a smile to Megamind's face.

"You know, I like this guy," the injured hero said to Roxanne, who had been patiently watching and taking mental notes about the things Megamind had told the EMT. He turned back to the medic. "I like you, you have a very sensible attitude. Maybe I should think of relocating my base of operations..."

Wood chuckled. "Thanks, but don't kid yourself, we probably have just as many nut cases and gossip mongers on this side of the lake. They just aren't as likely to come crawling out of the woodwork when you're only here as a guest. It's easy to be nice to a visiting celebrity. There, I think that should do it," he said as he finished wrapping gauze around the injury on the alien's upper arm. "They'll probably want you to see a doctor, just to make sure I didn't miss anything, but other than that, you're good to go. I imagine you know the drill about pain killers and keeping it clean and all that."

Megamind glanced at Roxanne, who was grinning at the shared memory. "Not the drill!" they exclaimed together in mock horror, then laughed. It was a silly, totally ridiculous thing that made more than the medic favor them with an odd, puzzled look, but after all that had happened over the past two days, it felt good just to be able to laugh, and know that all was right with their world.

* * *

Roxanne had been right when she'd told Megamind that he'd like the local station's coverage of events in the festival park. Aside from the security cameras located at strategic points all across the grounds, there were also a number of cameras used by the television stations to get long shots and elevated views of what was going on all around the site. The elevated cameras used by Roxanne's station affiliate were able to be controlled from a console at their pavilion; she and two other members of the crew had directed their use, along with several cameramen on foot, to follow both Megamind's pursuit of and fight with the bomber as well as the evacuations, while Curt had worked with the police and festival officials to make announcements via the public address systems. Unedited footage of the chase, the evacuation, and the explosions had gone out as breaking news. After the bomber had been taken into custody, several local authorities, Schaeffer, his two police friends, part of the camera crew, and the two visitors from Metro City gathered in the nearby administration building to view the video and discuss the situation.

While frightening, the blasts had not caused any serious damage or injuries, although preliminary investigation showed that if any of the other charges had been blown, the situation would have been much, much worse. The bomber, once in custody, had willingly talked. It turned out that he had been a construction worker for over fifteen years, and had lost his job and his newly formed company nearly two years earlier during the big economic downturn. Any unemployment benefits he could claim had long since run out, and he'd been taking whatever odd jobs he could find just to keep his family with a roof over their heads and food on the table. He had a history of severe depression, which had been going untreated since he could no longer afford to pay for medical insurance and his wife's poorly paid job had no benefits at all. Taking the temp work as a groundskeeper had felt to him like hitting rock bottom, and thus his beleaguered mind had come up with the idea of making a huge statement to force others to become aware of the severity of the local unemployment issue. If he couldn't get work raising houses, he would tear one down after a fashion, and make what he saw as idle wealthy people sit up and take notice. His friends and connections in the construction industry had made it easy for him to get hold of the demolitions equipment, and his access to the grounds outside of normal hours had given him time to implement his plans, which had taken several weeks to set up.

It surprised the locals when Megamind listened quietly to the report on the man, and then said that he felt sorry for him. Roxanne understood, but the others didn't, so he explained. "I grew up in a prison. And while I saw a lot of totally unrepentant, immoral criminals, I also saw plenty of inmates like this guy, ordinary people driven to acts of extreme desperation by circumstances beyond their control. It doesn't excuse what he did, but it does make it understandable. I know what it feels like to be forced into a corner where it seems like the only choices left open to you are all bad ones. I don't condone what he did, but I can sympathize with his situation."

No one disagreed with him. Many of them had come close to losing their own jobs in recent years, and others either had been in the awful position of being required to lay off or let go good co-workers, or had friends and family who had lost their jobs and eventually their homes. "Well, the courts may take that into account," one man, the police chief, noted. "He _has _been cooperative — but if you hadn't been there to stop him, I doubt he would've stopped himself until a lot more damage had been done."

"Is this going to shut down the festival?" Roxanne wondered. It certainly seemed like a possibility.

But another man, the current Summerfest director, spoke up even as several others shook their heads. "Not entirely. It'll be an inconvenience for the rest of today, since we'll need to close the damaged areas and conduct a search for any undetonated explosives, but if necessary, temporary arrangements can be made in the state park outside the grounds to accommodate the stages and businesses affected by the blasts. It'll put a crimp in things tonight, but with rain moving in, business would be slower, anyway. And it's not like this is one of the prime weekend days."

"Could you use some help with the repairs and the other clean-up?" Megamind asked, still distractedly watching a muted video replay of his mad race to find and stop the bomber. It was amazing, really, how clever these field reporters could be, catching and recording events as they happened.

Curt spoke for more than just himself. "I think you've already done more than anyone could've asked for, Mist— Megamind," he corrected himself with a smile. "You should probably give your arm a rest."

The alien didn't even bother to look away from the screen, which was now showing the damaged glider supports. "This? Pfffft. Just a scratch, really, it'll be better in a day or— _ow! _Roxanne, that _hurt!" _he whimpered after she very lightly prodded the bandaged wound.

She clicked her tongue at him, though she was smiling. "Just a scratch, huh? Give yourself a break, sweetie, and let the local heroes have a chance to do their jobs."

He looked up at her, shielding his injury with his other hand, his pouting expression giving way to honest confusion. "Of course! What did you think, that I was planning to climb up the pylons and crawl around the grounds like some kind of an explosive-sniffing _peedle?"_

Roxanne smirked. "Poodle," she corrected.

"Bagel?"

"Beagle."

"Doobieman— oh, never mind, you know what I mean!" he forestalled irritably when she opened her mouth to correct him even before he finished and some of the others started to hide grins and chuckles. "I was actually thinking of calling Minion, to have him bring over some of the brainbots. If the Lake Express is running on time, he could have them here before seven."

Not all of the locals were familiar with the ex-villain's robot helpers, but many were. "I've heard they've been very useful in patrolling and doing repairs around Metro City," the police chief said. "But we don't know where all of the explosives were set. I wouldn't want them to accidentally set something off..."

"That's why I suggested it. I used them last month to help check the west-side interchange for explosives when a lunatic calling himself the Decimator was threatening to level the entire freeway interchange during the height of rush hour. Some of the brainbots were exceptionally good at finding and safely removing the charges he'd already set. They can handle this, and while I may have a certain... fondness for them, a robot can be repaired or replaced if something goes wrong. A person can't."

He'd spoken so earnestly that for some moments, no one knew what to say. It was a member of the city's bomb squad who finally spoke up. "I can't argue that it would be a godsend," he said with considerable feeling. "Lord knows, it's hard enough to send a man in to check out something that only _looks_ suspicious. It's terrible, sending them out in search of explosives that we already know are there somewhere, and live. If your... what did you call them? Brainbots? If they could help, we'd be in your debt."

"More than we already are," the police chief added, with which others concurred.

Megamind grinned crookedly as he pulled out his cell phone. "All part of the superhero service," he quipped, adding a small, private smirk for Roxanne as he held up the phone and waggled it under her nose. "See, I promised I'd remember to bring it today."

She poked his uninjured arm, smiling broadly. "Just call Minion already, Mr. Superego," she teased. "And you might as well have him bring along your de-gun, if it's all right with the police chief."

"All right?" the man echoed, laughing. "Hell, Ms Ritchi, if we'd known he was coming with you, half the force would've been begging him to bring it! What cop doesn't want a gun that can take out troublemakers effectively without hurting them?"

Megamind lifted one eyebrow at that, still grinning. "It's effective, but I'm afraid you wouldn't care for the price tag. They'd be prohibitively expensive to mass produce."

The chief nodded. "So we've heard from the techie types, which is why we're all drooling to have a gawk at it. Never hurts to dream, does it?"

As he input the appropriate speed dial code and waited for Minion to answer, Megamind's eyes shifted to Roxanne; his eyes and his smile softened. "No," he agreed completely, thinking of his own impossible dream that against all odds had at last come true. "It never hurts to dream."

* * *

After considerable discussion among the city officials and the festival administration, it was agreed that all of the grounds — with the exception of the headline show in the amphitheater, which was completely away from any part of the sky glider or its environs — should be evacuated. The groups that had been scheduled to perform that evening would be moved to hastily erected stages in the large, open parkland areas north of the festival grounds, with some of the food service vendors moved into mobile facilities. The rest of the site itself was closed until the next day, to facilitate the search and repair efforts.

Driving the Invisible Car in visible mode, Minion arrived at the Summerfest grounds shortly before seven, trailed by a squadron of more than a hundred brainbots, flying above and behind the car like a huge flock of glowing and oddly-colored geese. With storms due before midnight, Megamind immediately began directing them to handle the check for explosives, which needed to be done before any repairs could be started. The bots that had come were those best skilled in this type of work, as well as some that were very efficient in doing all manner of clean-up and repair to city infrastructures.

The various emergency crews watched in fascination as the "flock" went to work, systematically examining every part of the park, the glider system, and all the buildings, locating and disarming and finally removing anything that could be a part of the incendiary devices. They moved in three separate waves, the first sweeping for and locating any suspicious materials, the second carefully disarming and removing any triggers, and the third cleaning off the explosives themselves, which they then deposited in containment barrels provided by the police bomb squads. They were finished in little more than an hour, then performed a final sweep and check to make certain nothing had been missed. When they were done and had been rewarded with lavish praise and a few thrown hand tools and other oddments from Daddy (and some of the city crews who had little to do, what with the brainbots handling so much of the work), the repair bots went to work, assisted by the others when they'd had their fill of playing Fetch the Wrench.

"At this rate, they'll have things finished by midnight," the police chief said, shaking his head in wonder at the sight of the bots busily at work, over a hundred highly skilled "hands" working quickly to bring everything back to normal.

"Earlier than that, I hope," was Megamind's opinion as he idly tossed a wrench for a "younger" bot that didn't easily tire of the fetching game. "If there's any lightning with those storms coming in, they won't want to stay out working in it. A few of them got hit the last time we had to fight in a thunderstorm, and now they're all _skootish_ about it."

Curt laughed at the image of the strangely amusing little robots acting like a flock of nervous chicks. The camera crews were recording everything for the ten o'clock news, and more than a few cell phones kept popping out to snap pictures of the amazing, if peculiar, sight. "I'll bet the people on board the ferry were a little weirded out with so many of them following it across the lake."

"Oh, it wasn't too bad," Minion assured him. Every time he spoke, he made more than one person jump at the sight and sound of a talking alien fish in a robot gorilla suit. "A lot of people onboard were from the Metro City area, so they're pretty much used to seeing the brainbots flying around, as long as they're not too up close and personal." He laughed, fins fluttering with amusement. "I think they were a _lot _more weirded out by me."

"Ridiculous," Roxanne assured him. "Nobody could be weirded out by you, Minion, you're the sweetest and best-mannered talking fish on the planet."

He rolled his large golden-brown eyes. "Well, since I'm the _only _talking fish on the planet, it's not much of a compliment, is it?"

Schaeffer, who was getting used to this more unusual of the two aliens, smiled. "Are you sure you don't want to be a part of that interview I'm setting up for tomorrow?"

"Oh, I'm positive, Mr. Schaeffer," Minion said most emphatically. "This is Sir's moment, not mine. I just brought in the clean-up crew. But I'm glad to see the people here accepting him so well. It can still be a little rough at times, back home."

"It's a clean slate, Minion," Roxanne pointed out. "I realized that this morning. There's no old baggage here, waiting to blow up in his face. People here know some things about him, but nobody really _expects _anything of him, good or bad. And he made a pretty good impression on his first time in town."

The fish coughed. "Well, not _exactly _the first," he said a bit sheepishly. "Don't tell Sir that I told you, but he snuck over here last year so he could catch Bon Jovi when they performed. He was supposed to be terrorizing the city with his new 'Evil Overlord' bit that night, but he had a few of the brainbots sort of cover for him."

Roxanne was torn being amused and aghast. "You've got to be kidding! He had us all hiding in our homes, wondering what horrible thing was he was going to do next, and he was off catching a classic rock concert?"

Minion shrugged. "What can I say, Ms Ritchi? The boss has always been a better rock fan than a supervillain."

"That might be true, Mr. Minion," Schaeffer said with a bright smile, watching the ballet of brainbots working on and about the damaged pylons, dancing to the orchestration of a highly animated blue-skinned conductor on the ground below. Megamind was trying to give specific instructions to several of the bots working on a large crack near the damaged top of the tall tower; when their lack of comprehension pushed him to his frustrated limits, he had several other bots carefully lift him up so that he could directly show them what he wanted done, before the city crews could bring up a truck with a boom lift, to give him access in the ordinary way. "He may not have been the best of villains, but as a hero, I'd say he's _definitely _found his calling."

* * *

The sun was shining brightly again over the Lake Michigan shoreline late the following afternoon. Summerfest was once more fully open for business, the bands playing, the performers performing, crowds of visitors eating, drinking, talking, laughing, and enjoying the day to its fullest. The crowds were even bigger than they might have been on an ordinary Friday, due to an influx of people eager to see the place that had made so much news the day before. Shortly before five, the news pavilion for Roxanne's affiliate station was packed to overflowing, for the news and videos of all that had happened yesterday had caused a sensation throughout the city and beyond.

The brainbots, intrigued by all the goings on, had been floating over the park all day, attracting attention with their curious dog-like behavior and their weirdly unobtrusive patrolling, helping a lost child here, thwarting a would-be pickpocket there, collecting litter and amusing kids in the children's area by happily engaging in games of fetch. A few people were a bit frightened and startled by the things at first, but when it became plain that most of the bots were just curious and looking to be helpful or wanting a little attention, they quickly grew accustomed to them. A number of the bots loved posing for pictures with anyone who asked, and they were eagerly indulged.

Minion, currently under a holowatch disguise as Warden Thurmer — a personality that generally suited his own, since Megamind's earliest Earthly guardian had been one of young Blue's staunchest protectors at the prison, the disguise used to keep attention away from himself for now — was sitting off to the side of the stage from which the station broadcast the earlier of its two late afternoon newscasts, when weather cooperated. Today, it was cooperating in fine style, neither too hot nor too cool, no threat of rain, and brilliant sunshine in the cloudless blue summer sky. Even the lake was getting into the act, its sometimes dull blue-gray waters today a sparkling deep sea blue, with spots of bright green in shallower places near the shore.

The earlier of the afternoon newscasts was generally the more casual on these remote broadcasts during fairs and fests, giving the highlights of local news but spending the bulk of the time focusing on the people and events in the festival itself. During the broadcast, Curt would mingle with the crowd of viewers, asking questions, getting people's thoughts and impressions of the day, finding interesting stories from those who had traveled from across the country and around the world to attend. In the last ten minutes of the program, he would talk with one of the celebrities in attendance, usually someone who was performing that day, or a well-known person who was there for some intriguing or amusing reason. Those short interviews were often the reason crowds would show up for the otherwise fairly ordinary broadcast, and today, the place was packed as it had seldom been before. Word had leaked, and from the many blue and black t-shirts emblazoned with a familiar lightning-bolt logo, the crowd knew just what to expect.

As he took his place for the interview spot, Curt saw that sea of blue and black, too, and smiled. "Well," he said over the loudspeakers as he was given the cue to begin, "I can see from the crowd that my surprise guest isn't much of a surprise, after all. I'm sure everyone here has already seen the footage of yesterday's big news from Summerfest, and I'm sure you've also seen our little flying guests who were brought in to help restore the grounds to safety and repair the damage that was caused by the explosions. As we've been happy to report that the culprit is safely in custody, I'm also happy to say that we have as our guest the person who was not only responsible for preventing any greater damage, but also for saving lives by recognizing a danger that no one else knew existed, and taking the steps necessary to neutralize the threat as quickly as possible.

"I can see from the audience that he needs no introduction, but since it's part of my job, it's also my pleasure and my privilege to introduce our new friend and ally from across the lake. Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear a warm Wisconsin and Summerfest welcome for the defender of Metro City and its neighbors on Lake Michigan: Megamind!"

When the blue hero came onto the stage — dressed in his classic black and blue outfit, sans cape, which Minion had brought along just in case — the welcoming applause from the crowd was more than merely warm. It was thunderous, coming as it did from beyond the news pavilion, out into the park and across the grounds, where people had gathered to give tribute to a person who had no duty to this city or its people, and yet had done so much to help when help was needed. And when their applause alone was not enough, they began to cheer, raising Megamind's name in a chant of approval that rendered the usually publicly self-assured alien speechless and flushed purple with wonder at their uninhibited display of praise and approval.

At the edge of the stage, Roxanne turned to the disguised Minion and smiled. "I think he's finally conquered an entire city in one day, Minion," she managed to say despite the deafening noise.

The holographically hidden ichthyoid returned the smile, filled with thirty-five years of pride. "In the only way that matters, Ms Ritchi," he replied with all the fondness of a proud parent watching a wayward son at long last receive the unconditional recognition and acceptance that had eluded him. "In the only way that _really_ matters."

* * *

_To be concluded_


	6. Sense and Sensibility and Somewhere

_Author's Note: My deepest thanks to all who have stayed with this peculiar set of tales, those who read, and especially those who review. Bless you all - and now, for the Grand Finale!_

* * *

Fourth Movement:

Sense and Sensibility and Somewhere

It was February again, and like February the year before, the weather was pretty wretched. Work for Roxanne still had its share of headaches, although this year, it wasn't KMCP's anchor who was out sick; it was Roxanne Ritchi. Shortly before Christmas, she and Megamind had made the mutual decision to consolidate their living arrangements, and after a surprisingly brief day or two of consideration, the reporter had decided that she was ready to leave her apartment — beautiful though it had become since its renovation after the Titan incident — and move into the Lair. There were really many advantages to be had there: lots of room, no rent or utility bills, and the eminently desirable results of Megamind's odd but fascinating architectural hobbies. So before the end of the year, she had made the move, and hadn't regretted it since.

Well, maybe a bit on those early mornings and late nights and strange hours when the ex-villain's job as the city's defender or his work in the labs and machine shops of the lower Lair either woke her at some ungodly hour or wouldn't let her get to sleep until some equally ungodly hour. Megamind did try to be considerate about it, but he also tended to forget himself, so he had equipped the master bedroom with the same sound damping fields he used in the music room to keep the entire west side of Metro City from complaining about the noise. Roxanne was still wakened at odd hours when some emergency requiring his attention came up, but thus far, it hadn't happened very often. Of course, she'd only been living there a little more than a month, and the weather had been so miserable, even Megamind at his most villainous would have stayed at home and put off any nefarious plans until spring.

Early in the month, Roxanne had had the bad luck to catch a flu bug that was going around the station, and weirdly enough, it was being sick that made her very grateful that she'd moved. At the apartment, she would have been alone in her misery, which made her feel even more miserable. Being sick was bad enough; being sick and lonely and required to take care of yourself when your gut was rebelling and your hair hurt and even thinking about moving caused your head to throb was a thing she had always hated. For the week it had taken for the worst of the virus to run its course, Megamind, Minion, and even the brainbots had been attentive and solicitous, enough to make her feel comfortable and cared for, but not so much that she felt smothered.

After seven days of fever, aches, nausea, exhaustion, and all the assorted other unpleasantries of influenza, the pampering of bed rest, attentively administered medicines, and carefully planned light meals and beverages — all taken care of by her beau, his lifelong guardian, and one very solicitous pink brainbot — Roxanne was finally beginning to feel herself on the mend. When she'd first fallen ill, she'd feared that Megamind would overdo it with attention and worry, but to her relief, he'd learned his lesson after a few rounds of ordinary colds and allergies over the past sixteen months of their non-villainous relationship. He still fretted and was as attentive as he could get away with, but he was showing a remarkable amount of discretion over when it would and wouldn't be a good time to look in on her. Roxanne was pretty sure she could detect Minion's fine hand in this, and she would have to remember to thank both of them properly when she was back on her feet.

For now, she was just glad that she could be off them as much as she needed to get well. Early in the week, there had been an ill-timed middle of the night call for Metro City's defender, and after his wake up call disturbed Roxanne, Megamind had moved himself into the second bedroom at nights for the duration. The sound-damping fields had let Roxanne sleep soundly, but now that she was feeling better, she felt like she could do with a little noise. Taking her time, she went into the adjoining bathroom, showered, and washed her hair.

She was still amused by Megamind's genuine failure to understand the need for the mere existence of shampoo, although he had no problem with the existence of blow-dryers. She supposed it was a matter of software versus hardware, and though the blue alien could get into programming like any good geek, he was plainly more of a hardware person. Then again, he had his mad scientist chemist side as well, and after Roxanne had explained to him what she knew of why ordinary soap was not suitable for regular use on hair (even though it was okay for Minion's fake fur), he'd gone off to research the subject on the Internet and then had concocted a dozen varieties of his own for her use. Some hadn't suited her hair type, one made her scalp itch, and another had actually turned her hair dark blue (temporarily, thank goodness), but two or three were pretty good, and one treated her hair and scalp better than the expensive stuff she'd been buying from a salon.

The shampoo project had kept him occupied during a quiet week in early January, after Roxanne had moved in and while everyone, crooks included, were still recovering from the holidays. During the next two weeks, things got busier in both of their jobs, Megamind's due to a surge of activity from what appeared to be a large group of new villains. Their crime spree was a string of major thefts, bank heists and jewelry store break-ins, going for cash and precious metals that were easily converted to cash. Each robbery was performed in broad daylight, by a pair of armed costumed villains, one acting as the boss and the other the thuggish henchman. It was never the same pair, which was causing concern among the police, that an entire gang of villains was being formed to take the place of the now-heroic former supervillain.

Megamind had become suspicious of the whole thing around the time of the third robbery, and after that had set brainbots newly equipped with invisibility stealth modes to do 24/7 surveillance of all banks and jewelers. They missed catching the next theft because the pair of crooks — always a pair, never a single, which was part of what piqued the ex-villain's suspicion — went after a coin collector's shop that bought and sold gold and silver. Such places were immediately added to the surveillance list, along with check cashing and payday loan sites, ATMs, brokerage houses, and any business that traded in expensive merchandise, like furs, cars, and high-end electronics. The foresight paid off, as the next break-in was at a luxury car dealership. The newest pair of villains not only were after any cash on hand, but also planned to make off with one of the most expensive and lavish cars in the showroom. The brainbots had sent an alert to Daddy the instant the duo pulled up, driving a nondescript junker of an old Ford Taurus that had once been red and was now predominantly the color of rust.

The covertly observing brainbots had recorded it all. The crooks — bedecked in garish purple and orange outfits that looked as if they'd come off the rack of some demented sideshow harem, with the bizarre addition of orange winter parkas — made it their first order of business to round up all the employees and customers and lock them in the glassed-in cashier's office, which they boasted they would clean out after they had made their "selection." They were in the middle of bickering over which of the most luxurious vehicles they should take to replace their junker — disagreeing over the poshness of a Rolls-Royce Phantom and the roominess of a Mercedes SUV — when Megamind arrived. He'd flown in on a smaller, sleeker version of his hoverbike that was outfitted not only with its own invisibility mode, but also with a nearly invisible fairing that made the vehicle much more tolerable for use in cold winter weather. The showroom had been equipped with a set of massive glass doors that were used to move the bigger vehicles in and out of the building. On his cue, four of the invisible brainbots had opened them to let Daddy come flying in in style, the stealth mode dropping as the bike swooped in, right over the heads of the startled pair of criminals. The moment they recognized the city's defender, the duo had opened fire, and had been utterly shocked when the bullets had no apparent effect on him. He had apprehended them in short order, dehydrating them to put an end to any further shooting that might have endangered the captives, and had gladly turned them over to the police when they arrived soon after.

It turned out that the "villain gang" was nothing more than this single pair of men, who had been changing their names and outfits with each new heist to make it look as if they were a growing group, an up and coming evil league of evil to be feared. Megamind had noticed the similar M.O.s in the string of crimes fairly early on, as well as the suspiciously identical body shapes and sizes under the different costumes that had been caught by security cameras. Those details combined with the fact that they were trying to amass considerable cash assets told him that they were looking for ways to make their dream of a entire legion of villains and supervillains a reality. If they couldn't persuade others to join them with words alone, they would do it by buying other allies with cold, hard cash. It was really pretty pathetic, but if they'd remained unchecked, they not only might have eventually pulled it off, but they very likely would have hurt or killed someone even sooner.

Roxanne's own work had increased because of all those incidents and her assignments to cover the developing situation, and she'd been glad when the whole thing was over. She downplayed it in her own reports, but that final confrontation with the crooks and the recordings from the brainbots that had eventually been released to the press caused a considerable sensation in the media. It was a known fact that Megamind was not invulnerable in the way Metro Man had been, but the footage had showed him able to simply shrug off a storm of bullets from a pair of automatic weapons as if they were nothing more than a dusting of sleet pellets. That had caused a huge tsunami of surprise among the city's various news and gossip purveyors, along with a flurry of heated speculation as to how this had been possible.

The currently most popular theory was that the blue alien had found ways to give himself some of his ex-rival's attributes so that he wouldn't be killed in the line of duty, as Hal Stewart had somehow acquired the full range of powers to become Titan, but Roxanne knew the truth and didn't want it to get around. Ever since he had taken on the mantle of Metro City's superhero, Megamind had been working on improving and augmenting the protective materials and devices he'd developed during his years as Metro Man's enemy. The impact dispersing polymer that he had patterned after substances from his home planet had been refined so that the thin protective undersuit he wore beneath his outer costume was not only thinner and lighter and more flexible, but was even more capable of armoring him against almost any force that might be thrown against him. He'd even gotten Wayne Scott to help him in testing it, so that he could be certain of its capacity to handle genuinely super forces.

To that he had added an invisible force-field that covered the parts of his body not protected by the polymer, most importantly his head. It was so finely tuned, it was like a second skin, completely undetectable until it was actually touched. The field didn't have quite the armoring capacity of the polymer, not yet; it could be shorted out if overloaded. He was working on improving that as well, but for the time being it worked — and more importantly, to him, it worked for Roxanne and Minion as well. His greatest fear in taking on the job of a hero was the danger it presented to those for whom he cared. Minion had some defenses of his own in the big robotic gorilla suit that was his habitat, but Roxanne had no such protection. With his development of the subtle force-field shielding device, he was able to provide her with some measure of that protection, which came as a relief to all of them.

Fortunately, when the flu hit her right at the beginning of February, safety was not an issue. Here in the Lair, Roxanne had been able to let herself relax and get better as she'd never been able to do in the days of Megamind's ongoing war against Metro Man. She didn't have to worry about anyone showing up to kidnap her when she was under the weather — though even at his most clueless, the blue alien had at least demonstrated some consideration for her condition whenever he happened to attempt a kidnapping without knowing beforehand that she was sick. Usually it wound up as Minion calling the boss to suggest a postponement, with which Megamind never argued, though several times, he told Minion to stay and make sure Roxanne had whatever she needed to get well. Twice, the anthropomorphized fish had stayed for a day or so, admirably tending to her needs. On one notable occasion when Megamind himself had been present for the kidnapping, he had whisked her off to an emergency room, as during the previous night, her very bad cold had suddenly turned to acute pneumonia, and she hadn't had the strength or even the wits to reach the phone and call 911. Looking back at it now, she understood that he had truly been worried about her, and not just because she was his best pawn in the Game with his arch-rival. The hospital staff had freaked out when he'd brought her in, and she remembered him saying something about not making the mistake of letting someone else do it again. Now, she understood why.

It was a fair part of why she couldn't get upset with him when he worried about her being sick now. Really, during this recent bout, he'd almost underdone it, to the point that she occasionally wondered where he was. There had been that one middle of the night summons early in the week — a rescue assist at a nursing home fire, something the brainbots could, with direction, handle even more efficiently than a hundred human firefighters — but since then, neither Megamind nor Minion had mentioned any other calls, just routine patrols and catching up on a backlog of equipment maintenance and repair. Her beau had graciously withdrawn to the other bedroom at nights for her sake, but it was his unusual absences during the day that made her wonder just what he was up to. Minion hadn't been forthcoming, either, and though Pinky was about most of the time, ready to do or get or bring anything she needed, the little bot couldn't provide any answers.

Now, feeling cleaner and more herself than she had since this flu had kicked in (unfortunately heralding itself with a sudden need to give back Minion's excellent dinner, even more unfortunately all over poor Minion himself), Roxanne put on a fresh set of pajamas, her best fluffy pink robe and matching slippers, and decided to brave the halls of the Lair's living quarters to see if anyone was about. The assortment of smells that she'd come to associate with these rooms above the labs and garages and storage lockers below was still the same: wood, leather, various plants, coffee, and an underlying, lingering trace of what was either glue or WD-40, she could never be quite sure which. In the direction of the master bathroom, she could hear the bowging of some of the housekeeping bots doing their regular clean up rounds, and from the kitchen she could catch the whiff of a breadmaker at work. She was about to head for the kitchen to see if Minion was there when she heard voices coming from another quarter, the chamber between the library and the music room, which she tended to think of as a general purpose work room or study.

"Does this feel better than the last one?" Megamind was saying in the odd distracted tone that usually meant he was actually in a state of hyper-concentration. "There's more flexibility where it counts and greater length, but also heightened sensitivity and improved response time."

Roxanne felt her eyebrows shoot up and her face burn red at the slightly more than suggestive image that those words brought to mind. _Get your mind out of the gutter, girl, _she told herself with a virtual face slap.

"I agree," came Minion's reply a few seconds later. "Being longer is certainly an improvement, and the shape alone is much, much better. I think this will be a better fit, so to speak, and it's _way_ better when it comes to recovery time."

"I know, it was frustrating, the performance was totally inadequate."

"Was I that bad? I'm sorry, sir, but you know, I'm still pretty new to this. I understand how the parts are supposed to work and what to do to with them, but I just haven't had enough practice using them, this way."

"Not to worry, Minion, I'm sure you'll get better with time. You just have to learn to trust your instincts a bit more."

"I know, I know, but I really don't want to disappoint you. That last time, I finished _way_ before you did..."

_Okay, that does it, _something screamed in Roxanne's head. It was time to either be brave and find out what those two were talking about, or to be a coward and run the other way before she could see the proof of what it _sounded_ like they were talking about. She actually took two steps away from the room before her nosy reporter side scolded her and made her turn back again. If this did turn out to be what it sounded like, it would be better if she found out now, before her imagination distorted things into being weirder than they probably were.

Fortunately, the door to the room was open, saving her the need to make a decision whether or not to knock first. This was probably one of the simplest rooms in this part of the Lair, with basic tables and chairs meant to handle the potential abuse of things like glues and solvents and oils and sharp or pointed tools. Even so, it had a kind of style, a sort of future industrial feel with a lot of steel and chrome and glass and bright lighting, offset by black enamel cabinet fronts and the black tile floor. Inside, Megamind was seated at the largest work table with a couple of brainbots hovering over him to provide extra light, and Minion standing before him with his right hand held out for his boss's examination. But the hand was different, not the heavy, thick-fingered gorilla-like paw that he usually sported. This was much closer to a normal human hand, with longer, more slender fingers that, as he wiggled them experimentally, demonstrated a higher degree of agility than his other robotic appendage. The gorilla paw was detached and lying on the table; thankfully, it looked more like a swapped accessory than a severed hand.

Roxanne released a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God, _that's _what you were talking about!" she said with an excess of emotion. "It sounded like — never mind what it sounded like, forget I even said that!"

"Ms Ritchi, you're up!" Minion exclaimed with a smile while Megamind frowned for a moment, trying to figure out what Roxanne had meant. He suddenly turned purple as he reflected on what she would have overheard and how it must have sounded. "How are you feeling today? You're looking much better."

She returned the fish's smile as she entered the room. "Thanks, Minion, I'm feeling much better. Still not a hundred percent, but at least seventy. Are you getting fitted for new hands?" she asked as she greeted her still dumbstruck boyfriend with a kiss on his forehead.

The ex-villain finally found his voice, though it came out a bit spluttering at first. "Yes!" he said most emphatically. "It's not what you — I mean, these have a higher degree of manual dexterity, something Minion's been wanting ever since he started tailoring clothes for me."

"Oh, what I had before was good enough for _that,_ sir, with the exception of some fine hand stitching. Strength was more important for a long time, and it still is, but not all the time. A few months ago, I told Sir I wanted to learn to play some kind of musical instrument, but the only thing I could manage with my usual hands was percussion, and that wasn't really what I had in mind. I liked the idea of a keyboard, but the fingers I had were too thick, and I kept breaking the keys. So Sir decided to make new ones I could use for that, and things like some of the finer work I do, both in the garage and for tailoring. It's a great idea, to be able to switch them, like having special tools for different jobs."

He flexed, then wiggled the fingers again, chuckling. "This is the third adjustment he's had to make, and I think this time's the charm. They had a bunch of bugs to be worked out at first, and though they were better on the second try, the responsiveness was still off; they worked _way _too fast. Sir was working with me, sort of a duet to test the timing, and I wound up finishing the piece in about half the time he did, much too soon."

"The control interface was off," Megamind grumbled to himself, poking and prodding the new robotic hand with a test probe. His embarrassed flush had faded, and he was back to his concentrating inventor mode. "They were trying to respond to your mental input as fast as you scanned the score rather than as fast as the tempo you directed. It just needed some fine tuning."

Roxanne was impressed. "That's very creative, both of you. Were you feeling left out whenever he went off to torture his guitar?" she teased the fish.

Megamind stuck out his tongue; Minion laughed. "Maybe, sometimes, though not when he's trying to work off steam — that _is _torture! I'm not saying that you're lousy, sir," he added hastily when his ward began to scowl at him, "just that you can get loud enough to shatter the glass on my dome! It's what you need to do, I'm not complaining! Really, Ms Ritchi, this was just something I wanted to try, to expand my horizons a little, and I like keyboard stuff. It's a lot easier to pick up than the violin."

That reminded the brunette of her beau's ongoing attempts to learn that particular instrument, and the fact that she hadn't heard any sounds of it, lately. "That's true. Did you give it up?" she wondered. "You've been doing pretty good with the Sherlock Holmes deductive reasoning part of hero work, like the way you put together the information on those serial robbers a few weeks back. But I haven't heard anything from the violin since way before Hallowe'en. Did it win the war?"

The blue alien shrugged. "I've had other things to work on," was his evasive answer. He looked up then, and smiled, a disarmingly charming smile that Roxanne was sure was at least partially intended as a diversion. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better. I was beginning to worry that this virus was more serious than it looked."

"Nothing to worry about," she assured him even as she recognized that he was deliberately changing the subject. She let him, since she knew by now that it hurt him when she made too much of his failures. She'd been aware of that effect she could have on him years before the "destruction of Metro Man" incident, and though she hadn't cared too much about his injured feelings then, she did now, and regretted her past pettiness. If he wanted to avoid this, she'd play along. "I appreciate all you've done, both of you, letting me rest, taking care of me, even worrying about me. It's been a long time since anyone did that for me, and it helped, a lot. I think I still have a few more days to go before I can go back to my regular schedule, but with the way you two coddle me, I won't mind at all."

She was glad to see both aliens positively glow from her praise. "Not to seem pushy, now, but is there anything around for lunch or breakfast or whatever time it is? Nothing heavy, but more than the broth and toast and usual sickbed things. My appetite is definitely coming back, which is a sure sign that I'm on the mend."

Minion nodded and would've gone right to the kitchen, but for his mismatched hands. "Will it take long to switch back?" he asked his boss.

Megamind hummed thoughtfully. "Not very, and it'll be simple when I've finished all the adaptations. But I think you should just keep it for now, see how it works for you in direct comparison to what you're used to."

"Great idea, sir!" the ichthyoid enthused. "If this works, just think of all the different possibilities for attachments!"

"Let's get this one to work right first, Minion," the inventive ex-villain recommended. Roxanne was a bit surprised by his subdued attitude, until he added, "No torches or laser cutters or anything like that until we're sure there won't be any accidents with the control interface."

Minion accepted that without hesitation. "Of course, sir. I don't want to hurt myself, or you or Ms Ritchi! One step at a time! For now, I'll just see to getting something for lunch."

As he ambled off, whistling cheerfully, Megamind shooed off the brainbots that had been providing extra light as he set aside his tools. Roxanne looked at the stuff spread across the table, and smiled. "You know, this kind of thing could be an absolute godsend for amputees and people with certain birth defects," she pointed out, with pride.

"It could be," he allowed, "but it's nowhere near that stage of the game. Doing this with Minion is easy because his 'body' is robotic and the neural implants that allow him to transmit his thoughts directly into the AI controllers of the suit are already in place — but I didn't put them there, my parents did. I still haven't mapped out all the details of how that fusion was achieved, and I'm _not _taking Minion apart to have a closer look! Even if I could be sure of doing it without hurting him, I'd be afraid that I wouldn't be able to put things back together properly because I don't have the right tools."

"Aren't there non-invasive ways to do that?"

"Yes, but the equipment that currently exists isn't good enough to do a proper job of it. I've been working on improving some different kinds of scanners, when I have the time. There hasn't been a lot of that to spare, unfortunately."

Roxanne slipped an arm around his waist as he stood up, both as a more proper greeting and because she had missed being close to him. He smiled and kissed her cheek, which was as far as things would go, for now. Megamind tended to have a fairly strong natural immunity to a lot of human diseases, but when he did catch one, he could get distressingly sick. Neither of them wanted to take the risk of him picking up this current bug, so certain sensible precautions were taken. Until today, Roxanne hadn't felt up to much more than sleeping and occasionally half-sleeping through a movie or TV show, anyway. His remark brought a small pinch of a frown to her brows. "Has it been a tough week? I thought things have been pretty quiet on the hero front, since Monday."

"On the streets, yes, but there's always the repairs and upgrades and things waiting to be done. Not to mention some new projects the city wants me to look into, and some other stuff the governor's asked about. It's like you with your job. There're always the stories you _want_ to do but can't ever seem to get around to because of the work you _have_ to do." He let loose an immense sigh. "It was _so_ much easier, being a villain. I could do what I wanted to, when I wanted to, and I didn't have to worry about letting anybody down or ruining my reputation."

She chuckled. "That's because you didn't _have_ a reputation that could be ruined, sweetie. Everybody was counting you to lose, anyway." When he huffed, lower lip sticking out in a disgruntled pout, she took a chance and kissed it quickly. "We loved you, anyway," she admitted. "What would've been the fun in having a superhero without a supervillain willing to keep taking him on, even when he always lost? The only way you could've ruined your reputation is if you'd stopped coming back for more."

He could tell she meant it as an odd sort of compliment, but he continued to pout for a few moments, regardless. "Well," he finally conceded, "I suppose I did show that I had more staying power than Wayne, in the end."

"Exactly. And if you ask me, I'd say you're outshining him when it comes to being a hero, too." She could see the pride begin to light up his green eyes, along with a bit of puzzlement. She explained. "Metro Man was big on rescues and thwarting criminals and doing feats of strength and speed and superpowers, but that was the whole show, with him. You do the rescuing and the thwarting, too, but you also do detective work Wayne just never bothered to do, not unless he could manage it with superpowers alone, and your public service work goes a lot farther than his ever did. Design and build new recycling facilities to handle all the city's waste products and revert them into useable materials instead of putting it all in landfills? Wayne couldn't've done that, all he ever did was chuck the stuff into the sun once in a while, and then only if people asked. Come up with materials that will eventually protect all the police and firefighters, not just himself? Not a chance he'd ever do it, he just couldn't. Have brainbots patrolling the city, keeping an eye out for trouble, picking up litter, just generally being helpful? Hell, when you got them to start doing that while you were still the Evil Overlord, the city was safer than it had _ever_ been while Metro Man was on patrol. He couldn't be everywhere, and not even in as many places as your brainbots are. And all those things are just the tip of the iceberg. You've done a lot more for this city and the whole region since you became the hero than Wayne did in all the years he was Metro Man. That makes you the better hero in my book — and in a lot of other people's, too. I know you, you'll find the time to make this neural interface thing work, sooner or later. It's just the way you are."

Now, there was an odd smile on the blue face, a charming combination of pride, vanity, and even a little abashed humility. "Well, yes, of course I will!" he agreed, as if thinking anything else was just plain silly. "It's what I do best, after all, never give up! Even Mr. Super Snot can't say that, because he _did!"_

Roxanne grinned. "He certainly did, and at just the wrong time. But that's in the past, water under the bridge. Has anything else been happening that I should know about?"

Megamind shook his head as he steered her toward the door and out of the room, headed for the kitchen, his arm around her shoulders while hers was still comfortably wrapped around his slim waist. "Nothing significant. Your boss wants to know when you'll be back to work, he's been trying to call and sending notes with Pinky when she goes to your office to pick up your mail. We should really set up a post office box for you, so your private stuff doesn't have to get keep getting forwarded to the station."

She snickered. "That may become a moot point if you don't outfit my car with a stealth mode, like the Invisible Car. I've been having to shake people off my tail for months to keep the paparazzi and other less well-intentioned snoops from following me, especially since it got around the station that you and I had moved in together."

He snorted. "Yes, well, that's one of the other things we've been working on while you were sick. That and trying to miniaturize the necessary components enough to fit in as a setting on the holowatch. The car should be done by the end of next week, but I'm afraid the watch thing's going to take a little longer."

"You'll work it out, hon, I have faith in you." She felt the slight bloom of heat under her lips as she kissed his cheek in encouragement. He was always a bit embarrassed by such open demonstrations of confidence in him and his abilities after so many, many years of failure, even as he reveled in them. "So, has Pinky been playing secretary with my mail, sorting out the junk from all the rest of it?"

"Diligently. There isn't much of 'the rest of it,' mostly notes from your boss, from the look of things."

Her eyes twinkled as she sent him a sly, sidelong glance. "What, you haven't been reading it for me?"

"Never," was the indignantly offered reply. "I had enough to worry about on your behalf, with you being sick. I didn't need to add worries about whether or not I should go dehydrate your boss and a few of your so-called fans."

"That's probably for the best," she admitted.

"Just don't be surprised when you find all the envelopes opened. Pinky got the idea that she could sort things better if she knew what's in them, but she's not much of a reader."

The image of the little bot trying to find some kind order in letters she could barely read made Roxanne laugh, and she was still laughing when they reached the kitchen. Her mail had been spread out on one side of the table, several piles that didn't seem exceptionally large, until she noticed the trash can full of junk mail alongside one of the chairs. It was amazing just how much of the stuff could pile up in a single week.

While she ate the lunch Minion had provided for her, easily digestible things with more solid protein and vitamins and carbohydrates than she'd been able to ingest during the worst parts of her illness, Roxanne idly sorted through some of the collected mail. The things from her boss, she noted, had been stacked according to the date received, so she decided to tackle them first. Most were just queries as to when she was coming back and generally dismissible news of what was going on at the station. One, however, was more interesting.

"Oh, I'd heard rumors that someone at KMCP was going to be buttonholed for this, this year," she said as she read the note and an attached letter. "But I didn't think it would be me!"

"Buttonholed?" Megamind repeated after swallowing a mouthful of his sandwich, trying to wrap his brain around the bizarre concept of buttonholing. "Does someone want to cover you with buttonholes, or do they plan to try to turn you into one?" From his expression, if she said the latter, he was going to demand to know who had concocted this nefarious plan so he could go after them and use one of the less benign settings of the de-gun on him or her.

Roxanne laughed and patted his shoulder. "Neither, sweetie, so you can just unruffle your feathers. To buttonhole someone means to corner them and ask them for a favor. Happens all the time, especially in things like politics and the media."

"That doesn't sound much better," was the alien's opinion, still offered with a glower. "Who wants to ask you to do them a favor?"

"The annual Metro County Children's Benefit. Every March, they put on some kind of dinner and show to raise money for different groups that provide funding for underprivileged kids, usually a celebrity competition with the prize money given to the winners' selected charity. Last year, they did 'Metro Idol' and had a singing competition. I think you were in the middle of helping with the renovation of the subway system then, so they stayed off your back. Wayne was really ticked off about it, 'cause he'd been wanting them to do that for years, and when they finally did, he couldn't compete because he was still officially 'dead.' This year, they're going with 'Metro City's Got Talent.'" She snorted. "Betcha anything Wayne offered a big donation to talk the committee into it, just so he can get up on stage and have his act televised to the whole city."

The alien nodded. "Oh, yes, we know about that. Are they asking you to compete on behalf of the station?"

The brunette shook her head. "No, they want me to host it. They usually try to tap one of the local news reporters or interviewers for the job — I guess they figure we know how to handle ourselves in front of the cameras and interact with people. Last year, they got Mark Wilson from Channel 11 to do it, and it was someone from Channel 3 the year before that. I guess it was our turn in the rotation."

"Well, I think they made an excellent choice, Ms Ritchi," Minion said from the kitchen's central prep island, where he was testing the dexterity of his new hand when it came to feeding himself, tossing and catching lobster bites through the open top of his dome, like popcorn. "You've always had a wonderful presence on camera — it certainly had the boss captivated for years!"

"Minion!" said boss scolded with a devastating glare that his guardian easily ignored.

Roxanne allowed herself only the smallest chuckle, since he had already gone purple from the neck up. "It's okay, Megamind, he's not telling me anything I didn't already know. I do know how to recognize professional admirers when I see them, and even when I was pissed off at you for kidnapping me and turning my life upside down, I thought it was kind of sweet and flattering. How do you two know about the benefit? Have they been running commercials for it already? They usually don't start that up until about a month beforehand, so people won't have time to get sick and tired of hearing about it."

Megamind shook his head as his color returned to normal. He took a sip from his cup of coffee to clear his throat before tendering an answer. "I don't know if they are, I haven't had much time to watch TV lately — and it's never as interesting when you're not on it. No, they sent us invitations months ago, asking if we'd be willing to participate this year, since we _are _local celebrities."

Roxanne was admittedly a bit surprised, since it showed just how much some parts of the region were finally accepting the two aliens as the good guys. "Did you say yes?"

Minion looked at his ward before answering; the blue hero shrugged. "We told them we'd think about it," the latter said. "I mean, it's hard to make definite commitments for something sort of frivolous when you have to be on call for emergencies at any time of the day or night. Unlike my _predesceasor, _neither Minion nor I have ridiculously extreme super-speed."

The reporter didn't bother to correct his mild mispronunciation, as it was rather amusingly apropos. "That _is _true," she agreed. "And the benefit isn't until the twentieth of next month, so it can be tough to even try to make projections. They asked both of you, huh?"

"Is that cool, or what?" Minion confirmed most enthusiastically.

Megamind was remarkably calm about it, though he did come off as a bit smug. "We _are _a team, Minion, don't forget that."

The ichthyoid rolled his golden-brown eyes, since he knew quite well that his master forgot that very fact often enough. "Well, sir, I _am _just the sidekick. Without you, there wouldn't even _be _a team."

Roxanne was amused at their byplay. "Have you guys come up with anything to do, just in case you're available and can make it, or were you just planning to play the busy heroes card and avoid the whole thing?"

The ex-villain made the most peculiar noise Roxanne had ever heard. "I _want _to," he admitted candidly. "Wayne has some idea about engaging in a battle of the bands — which would be rather grossly unfair, since he _has _a band these days, and we don't."

"Oh, so you're saying you couldn't manage to get something together using the brainbots?" the brunette challenged impishly.

"Of _course _I could!" was the reliably cocky answer. "But he wants this to be on his terms, as usual. Every time we fought, he's always had the upper hand right from the start because he had the advantage with all his superpowers and invulnerability. Every single time, I had to try to find a way to even the playing field before I could even start thinking about having a real advantage. What do you think all those kidnappings were about?"

Roxanne's smile was lopsided. "Well, I'll admit, that's what it looked like for the first year or three, but after that, I got the distinct impression that it was getting to be more about being a weird sort of date. More and more, you sure didn't seem like you were in any big hurry to get Metro Man to come save me."

Megamind coughed; Minion sniggered. "She's got you there, sir."

"Oh, shut up," his ward grumbled, unable to really deny the accusation. "Perhaps I did start to enjoy your company more than a villain should have," he confessed to Roxanne, "but you have to remember that I and the rest of Metrocity were under the distinct impression that you and Mr. Goody Two Shoes were An Item. _He _never said anything to the contrary, so in the end, it was still partly about gaining some kind of realistic advantage over him."

Roxanne blinked, startled. "Wait, are you saying that Wayne _never_ tried to tell you that he wasn't my boyfriend?"

"Of course he didn't. If he had, would you have needed to tell me otherwise when you thought I was 'Bernard?'"

Somehow, even though they had been together for over a year and a half, the implications of that particular matter had never occurred to the reporter. She frowned. "That muscle-brained creep! Do you mean to say that if he'd just told you flat out that he and I weren't dating, weren't anything more than friends, you would've left me alone?"

Megamind considered this while he finished his sandwich. "That's a possibility," he finally said. "I can't say for sure whether or not I would've believed him, since that's the sort of white lie even he would tell to protect someone, but if he _had _been able to make me buy it, it would have changed my perceptions. Of course, he would've needed to tell me fairly early on. I'm afraid that Minion's right, I _did _start to enjoy your company rather quickly. After that, I would've looked for other excuses to...er...well, you know."

"Yeah, I do. But it still ticks me off to think that Wayne never bothered to tell you we weren't a couple. I would've thought he'd do that just to try to get you off my back! The _nerve _of him, going around _letting _you think that we were dating or whatever he wanted to call it, I don't _care _if he thought he was protecting my honor or insuring my job security! He should have _said _something, right from the start — especially to _you!_ That lame-brained, numb-skulled, over-muscled self-centered excuse for a hero! First he lets _you _keep right on thinking something about me that just wasn't true, and then he goes and walks out on us, and leaves the whole city _and _me to you and your hare-brained ideas! When I think how that whole mess could've been prevented if he'd deflated his male ego a little and just admitted that there was one woman in the world who wasn't all swooning over him, I could wring his bloody neck! Man, if I'd known he was doing that just so everyone would think he actually had a girl in his life, I would've headed for the nearest army base, borrowed their biggest rocket launcher, hauled it over to his stupid little playhouse on the beach, and shoved the thing right up his superheroic backside and launched him right into— _what?"_

The ex-villain watched her increasingly incensed reaction with startled interest, head cocked as if studying some unfathomably peculiar display of animal ritual. As she went on and on and got herself worked up more and more, a smile slowly spread across Megamind's face, followed by a chuckle which quickly built to full-blown laughter. It got the better of him for such a long time, Roxanne finally turned to Minion, at a loss.

The piscine sidekick had no better idea of what had set off his boss. "Uh... sir, is something wrong?" he asked uncertainly. "Are you having a seizure?"

The still laughing hero shook his head, unable to say more quite yet. Both his companions were starting to get worried by the time this strange bout of humor began to abate, and he wiped away the tears of laughter with the back of one hand. "No," he gasped out at last. "It's not a seizure — it's not really even all _that_ funny, it's just—! Ridiculous, that's what it is! I thought _I'm_ supposed to be the over-emotional one around here, not _you,_ Roxanne! I don't think I've ever heard you blow your top like that — and when you're still getting over the flu! I'm glad this didn't come up when you were completely healthy! You might've grabbed the nearest missle launcher and taken out the entire north shore just to get Wayne's hideout!"

The absurdity of the situation got to Minion first, though he tried his best to hide his own laughter at the image of the usually sensible Ms Ritchi using heavy weapons to attempt getting even with the retired Metro Man. It took Roxanne a fair bit longer to get out of her outraged state of mind to begin to see how much she'd been acting... well, like Megamind in one of his more over the top moments, toned down, of course, by her currently marginal state of health. When she was able to think over all she'd just said, she couldn't quite keep the wry smile off her face.

She finally wadded up her napkin and threw it at her still-chortling blue beau. "Oh, all right, you, stop it already, it's not _that _funny!" she chided, flushing an attractive deep pink at her own atypical behavior. "I guess I did go a little overboard, but really, the whole thing with everyone from here to Timbuktu thinking I was Metro Man's girlfriend was a huge pain in the butt! And not just because of you and all those kidnappings! Having that reputation following me around was as good as hanging a _DO NOT TOUCH _sign around my neck to everything male — except _you!_ If Wayne had _really_ had my best interests at heart, he should've tried a little harder to convince people it wasn't true!"

Megamind had stopped laughing, but now he was eyeing his girlfriend with a mischievous, almost evil smirk. "So, you wanted him to go and find himself another reporter to date, to convince other men that you weren't — ah — taken?"

"That would've been nice, yes."

Now, he put on his sad puppy face. "And you would've been happy if I'd just gone away?"

She knew he was giving her that look on purpose, and it didn't matter, it got to her anyway. "Well, not in hindsight, no. I'm glad we got together. But I could've done with a few less kidnappings."

The mischievous smile was back. "Hmm, I can see your point — though it might not have made much of a difference, in the end."

"Then I was right!" Minion crowed in triumph. "Ha! You can deny it all you want, sir, but I just _knew _you were smitten even _before _that first kidnapping! And you kept telling me I was just a fish and didn't understand these things!"

Megamind suddenly seemed to fold in on himself like an imploding balloon, his entire head turning a shade of purple that Roxanne was fairly certain was bordering on ultraviolet. "What is this, Embarrass a Superhero to Death Day?"

Roxanne had the presence of mind not to laugh, and Minion had the decency to be chagrined. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to get carried away like that. But I've been trying to get you to admit that for years!"

The mortified hero pulled himself together enough to give the fish a withering look that would've literally melted anyone else. "Yes, well, just remember, if something just happens to 'come up' the night of that benefit, _you _get to go on for the both of us, all by yourself!"

That reminder wrung a huge gulp of dismay from the ichthyoid. Roxanne, however, was surprised. "Does that mean the two of you accepted the invitation? That you're going to give Wayne his battle of the bands?"

Megamind's complexion was slowly returning to normal as his lungs reinflated properly. He waggled one hand. "Yes and no. Yes, we accepted the invitation to participate, so long as nothing comes up to prevent it, but no, Wayne isn't getting the battle he wants. Some other time, maybe, when we have time to prepare a proper presentation."

"Does this have anything to do with Minion learning to play the keyboard?"

"After only a few months' practice? It's not strictly a music competition, after all."

"That's true." She scanned the letter from the benefit's board. "I was thinking of passing on this, but now, I've just _got _to do it, just to make sure I get a front row seat to see what you two have been cooking up." She paused. "I hope that's not what you're planning to do, cook up a bomb on the stage or something."

The blue alien had definitely regained his composure, as his response was an extravagantly indignant roll of his eyes. "Please, that would be _totally_ unacceptable for a hero! We have something in mind, yes, but just for that, you're going to have to wait like everyone else and see it at the benefit. _If _circumstances permit."

Roxanne tried to give him her best persuasive "temptress" look, but he remained adamant. She figured it probably had something to do with her still recovering from the flu, and not quite being on top of her game. Give it a day or two, she felt sure, and she'd get it out of him. He was too much of a show-off to keep his plans quiet for that long.

* * *

But over a month later, when the day of the Children's Benefit had arrived, he still wasn't talking.

There had been a time when Roxanne would've been impressed by Megamind's newly demonstrated ability to play his cards this close to the vest, but she had to admit to being more than a little bit curious about the whole secret. Even Minion, who could often be counted on to spill the beans if properly wheedled (which could be as little as simply asking nicely) was no help. This time, he clammed up and sometimes literally ran the other way whenever she tried to bring it up.

Whatever they were up to, they kept any preparations confined to the hours when she was at work, as near as she could tell. There were a few evenings when one or the other of them went missing for an hour or so, but they always showed up again with a perfectly reasonable and generally provable alibi. Once in a while, she did catch brief noises that sounded like a guitar being tuned or drums being played, but it never lasted long enough for her to be certain she wasn't just hearing music being played in some distant part of the Lair.

Roxanne had to give them an A for effort alone. She still had her suspicions that they were planning something with electric guitar and either drums or keyboard, if Minion's lessons — of which she'd heard absolutely nothing — had come along sufficiently. She also had an inkling that there was some special costume planned for one or both of them as she'd seen a few of the brainbots tussling over scraps of what might have once been electric blue silk and some sort of silver fabric too shredded to identify the exact type.

Then again, she'd also heard sounds that had nothing to do with music, thumping and buzzing and banging down in the workshops of the Lair's garage level, and had caught some hints of what smelled a bit like gunpowder. All of that could have been work related, but given past incidents, Roxanne couldn't rule out the possibility of some kind of robotic or incendiary display, possibly both. She dared to ask about the noises and smells down in the lab, and had been told, "Upgrade and refinements for the jetpack. Could be very useful, come summer." And that was it. Given how Megamind was inclined to boil over with enthusiasm and show her all he'd done and all he planned to do whenever Roxanne asked about his inventive projects, she was definitely smelling a cover up. But no amount of poking, prying, snooping, sneaking, or cajoling would get him or Minion to reveal anything more. So she was forced to give her investigative reporter skills a rest and simply wait to find out.

Come the morning of the day of the benefit, she was definitely looking forward to that evening, and whatever it was that her beau and his fish had up their sleeves. The benefit would begin with dinner at five, followed by the competition and then the traditional celebratory ball afterward. Roxanne had to leave hours before the boys, as there were many technical, make-up, and wardrobe preparations she needed to complete before her portion of the live broadcast began, around seven. Around four, the celebrities and other guests began to arrive, and Roxanne was glad that she hadn't pulled the job of covering that, as red-carpet coverage was a foot-tiring, back-breaking marathon that could be even worse if the weather was lousy. Today was sort of an average March day in Michigan, which meant it was pretty cold and blustery, and generally not all that pleasant.

She wondered if Megamind would decide to grandstand and be the last to show, making a dramatic entrance; she was mildly surprised when he didn't. Oh, he put plenty of his trademark presentation into his arrival, with an able assist from Minion and a squadron or two of brainbots, but he showed up somewhere in the middle of the mass influx, and didn't bask under the admiration of the press and the crowds for more than the requisite few minutes. He swept into the hall with his typical flair, and when he doffed his newly designed cold-weather coat, Roxanne saw that he was wearing one of his usual "work outfits," no doubt because he knew that it would be expected of him. When a couple of brainbots made a little show of bringing Daddy his cape, the reaction of the crowd told the reporter that Megamind had read his audience very well indeed. She saw his eyes light up when he spotted her, and he excused himself to go join her as quickly as he could without being overly rude.

"Nice entrance," she commended after greeting him with a quick kiss. "But where's the de-gun? After last June, I thought you swore you'd never again leave home without it."

"Oh, I have it," he assured her with smug delight. "I'm just testing the miniaturized invisibility circuits. It seemed like a good time for it, since this is supposed to be a peaceful charity event and all."

"And you don't trust that it'll stay that way."

He snorted. "Would you?"

She considered the question for a moment, then shook her head. "With everyone who's here? Probably not. Oh, I was wondering who'd be the one to make the big last-one-here entrance," she added, looking beyond Megamind to the crowd just now coming through the doors, cameras whirring and flashing.

The blue hero followed her gaze in time to see Wayne Scott and a flock of fawning fans and paparazzi sweeping into the huge ballroom. "Figures," he grunted, just loud enough for Roxanne to hear. "He may have gotten tired of the work and responsibility of being a hero, but he obviously missed the attention of his adoring fans."

Roxanne kissed his cheek, softly. "Don't feel too bitter," she suggested. "You have plenty of fans of your own, and _he _didn't get the girl." That very pleasant truth brought a warm smile to the alien's face, and without another thought for it, he let the matter go.

As far as Megamind was concerned, Wayne's new Music Man persona had a lot less class and style than his stronger-than-dirt Mr. Clean presentation as Metro Man. The budding musician seemed to still be in the midst of an identity crisis of sorts, without a clear focus as to the kind of music he wanted to make his own. Rock? Country? Pop? Jazz? Though he was dressed in a white tux for the dinner, he was also wearing white cowboy boots, gold gloves, an Elvis style pompadour, and such a high-gloss shine on his teeth that they could be used as a mirror. It was amazing he wasn't getting requests to close his mouth from the photographers. If this was any indication of what lay in store for his performance in the competition, the ex-villain regretted that he hadn't thought to bring ear plugs, or nose plugs. He had little doubt that Wayne was going to stink up the entire western half of the state.

Fortunately, there was no need for them to sit together during the dinner portion of the event, and the competition would be held in the adjoining auditorium. After they'd first entered, Minion had disappeared for a bit, to leave some of their gear in the backstage room that had been assigned to them, but he joined them in time for the dinner. It was a fairly uninspired affair, which was typical of many benefits, intended to raise interest and funds with a certain minimum expenditure. The food was passable, but the inevitable speeches during the meal were positively soporific. Both Roxanne and Minion had to nudge or occasionally kick Megamind under the table to get him to keep his running commentary either to himself or keep it so quiet that it couldn't be heard at the adjoining tables.

When he looked back on that particular evening, the former villain had to admit that a large part of what had made it endurable for him was watching Roxanne perform her duties as the Mistress of Ceremonies. It was, he thought, a good thing that she hadn't been asked to be one of the judges, since he couldn't imagine how someone of her exacting taste and exemplary judgment — second only to himself, of course — could possibly lie through her teeth to say something kind to many of the appalling celebrity "talents" that were put on display. That seemed to be the way of it with the three people chosen to act as this year's judges: the mayor's wife, the director of the Metro County Children's Benefit Association, and the superintendent of schools for Metro City. Since the event _was _for charity, no matter who won or who lost, the ex-villain supposed it would be incredibly rude for them to do anything other than praise the contestants, especially since the whole thing was being broadcast live. But lord, some of these dog-and-pony shows — and one of the acts actually _was _a dog and pony show, or more precisely a show with poor dogs dressed up to look like the sappiest ponies imaginable to the most sugar-addled five year old's mind — went beyond terrible and awful and horrible into realms of sheer badness beyond description. And that was bad in the most genuinely bad way, not the least in a good bad way. Thus far, the best thing to step out onto that stage was Roxanne in her beautiful blue and silver evening gown, and Megamind was quite certain his opinion was completely unbiased.

Wayne Scott and his band — now reimagined under the moniker of Wild Wayne and the Rockets (which Megamind simply _had _to deliberately misprounce in his own thoughts as "Wild Wayne and the Wockets") — was scheduled to perform second to last. He had initially wanted the final spot, no doubt to have a chance to wow the judges after all the others had fizzled out, but the show's producer had felt that since Megamind was now the city's actively on-call defender, he should have that particular honor, simply because if he did get called away on business, it would be easier to end the show one act early than to suddenly tell those who might follow him that they had less time to prepare than they had anticipated. Wayne had conceded to that logic, and decided that he preferred it this way, as it was as close to a battle of the bands with his former nemesis as he was going to get this year.

Just before the retired hero took the stage, Minion headed for their assigned room to get ready. Megamind had intended to follow, but something held him back. It started as a desire to see just how Roxanne introduced her so-called former boyfriend — with the cheerful politeness her job as the MC required, but little more, he was pleased to note — but he stayed a bit longer, admittedly out of curiosity to see whether or not Wayne had improved at all over the past almost nine months. He lingered in the wings between several heavy black leg curtains, the shadows concealing his presence quite well even as his position allowed him to look out across the stage.

When Scott sauntered onto the stage, the blue genius clapped one hand over his mouth to smother the gagging sound that threatened to burst out, loudly. As his dinner dress had indicated, he was really in a serious state of artistic confusion. His performance costume made him look like the demented lab-experiment love child of Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, Rick Springsteen, Willie Nelson, and Frank Sinatra, birthed, no doubt, by Dolly Parton. If he was honestly determined to keep pursuing a career in music, Megamind decided that either someone had to convince him to remain behind the scenes, or he at least needed to give him the loan of Minion to help design a decent wardrobe. He also needed to do something to tone down the reflectiveness of his teeth when under the spotlights, or he'd find someone asking him if he'd like to moonlight as a disco ball.

"Thank you for that great intro, Roxie!" his old rival began, with a mile-wide cheesy grin, as shown by the glitter of reflections that skittered over the faces of the audience. Megamind frowned, making a note to remind Mr. Muscle Brain for the umpteenth time that Roxanne _really _hated that nickname. "I'm happy to be here tonight, playing for all the wonderful people of Metro County, and especially for the folks at the Arts in Our Schools Society, who will receive the prize money when — I mean_ if _I should be lucky enough to be picked as tonight's winner!" From the way the crowd laughed, it was obvious that he'd given them his trademark broad and somewhat smarmy wink, to say that he really meant _when, _for there could be no doubt as to the inevitable outcome. Just for old time's sake, Megamind was sorely tempted to go find a few smoke bombs and a backstage microphone, to interrupt his big show and upstage him.

The music — a song Wayne called "The Metro Country Star-Spangled Rock 'n' Roll Blues" — had just started when Megamind dismissed the thought of pranking his old rival as delightful, but something he really shouldn't do unless he wanted Roxanne to move out again. He turned to head back to the room where Minion was waiting, sighed — and on the next inhale caught the distinctive noxious reek of cigarette smoke, both fresh and stale, combined with a sulfurous scent that was stronger than any mere match. He felt rather than heard the pop of several small explosives going off at once, and suddenly, the entire stage was being flooded with thick, rolling clouds of noxious smoke and fumes, in shades of sickly green and gray.

_Well, _he thought even as his well-honed instincts and hyper-sensitive nose had him moving to a safer place amid the many drapes and curtains and scenery flats around the edges of the stage, _at least no one can blame this on me — those are so __not__ my colors!_

"Minion!" he whispered into his watch comm as he ducked behind a much thicker set of curtains that were enough to block the horrible smokes and gases that had choked Wayne and his band to a halt. "We've got trouble!"

"What's wrong, sir?" the fish answered at once. "What sort of trouble?"

"A visit from an old would-be competitor, I think. He's got the entire stage flooded with smoke and gas, and I don't think Wayne will be able to get rid of it without blowing his cover."

"Oh, no!" came the disgusted groan. "Not Nico Teen again!" The person Minion mentioned was a minor villain whose brief heyday had been during their own years of villainy. A surly sixteen year old more than a decade ago, Nico Tinsdale had dropped out of high school to pursue a career as an obnoxious petty criminal whose trademark was the use of smokes and increasingly more noxious and poisonous gases to cover his crimes, mostly theft. He hated Metro Man for being powerful and invulnerable to his skills, able to walk through them unharmed to haul him back to reform school until he finally got old enough and his crimes serious enough to land him in a regular prison. And he hated Megamind as well, simply for being so obviously an alien, who, in Nico's opinion, should've been sliced and diced and tossed out with the trash the moment he'd landed on Earth. "I thought he went in ten years ago on a fifty year sentence!"

Megamind's scowl was a succinct opinion of the current so-called criminal justice system. "Last I heard he was, but you know how eager they are to parole some of these petty criminals just to ease up the overcrowding in the prisons. I can't use the de-gun through that garbage he's got spewing out; if I accidentally dehydrate one of the band members in the wrong kind of fog, it can mess up their cellular structure but good."

"What are you going to do, then, sir? If he's using poison gases...!"

"I know, I know, I can't just walk in without killing myself, not without the right gear! I'm hoping Metro Twit has enough brains to protect his own band members. Call in the nearest group of industrial fire and rescue bots and have them enter the upper stage area through the rear catwalk entrances. I'll keep this idiot distracted until they arrive."

"You've got it, sir!"

Trusting that Minion would act as quickly as possible, Megamind sidled along the side wall behind the curtains, far enough forward to see the front of the stage and beyond. Roxanne, thank goodness, had had the common sense to leave the stage at the first whiff of trouble, and had evacuated those in the orchestra pit and the people in the first rows of the audience, including the judges, so that they were clear of the fortunately slow-spreading heavy clouds. Through sheer luck, he managed to catch her eye as she kept glancing around, looking for some sign of who had done this, and why Wayne and his group weren't escaping it. Megamind had a pretty good idea of why the retired hero hadn't fled; from the smell, the gases contained some incapacitating and potentially lethal elements. So long as he couldn't reveal that he hadn't really lost his superpowers, Wayne couldn't leave; he had to remain hidden within the thick smoke to protect his possibly semi-conscious fellow musicians.

Roxanne sent her beau a meaningful look. _You?_

He shook his head, and mouthed, _I'm on it._ It was at that moment that the sound of raspy, half-coughing laughter echoed over the sound system. "Well, well, well," a rough male voice wheezed. "If it isn't my old, dear friend, Metro Jerk, all back in business as a half-assed singer! Oh, what a pity, I heard you lost all your powers a year or two back — ain't that just a stinkin' shame, Waynie boy? That means you can't do nothin' about that nice sweet phosgene gas that should be startin' to eat away your little lungs, just about now. Guess I'll be the one to actually pull off killin' Metro Man, not that half-assed little blue twerp, Megamouth..."

A truly disturbing laugh rolled from the auditorium's sound system as Megamind laid hands on a backstage mike after passing on the info about the specific gas to Minion and the brainbots. "Would you care to get a second opinion from the little blue twerp, Nico Teen — oh, I forgot, you're hardly a pimple-faced teenager anymore, are you, Nico Teeny? Tell me, have you grown since the last time we met? You were always at least half a foot shorter than me — they do say that smoking stunts your growth, and from the look of things, you must've started when you were still in the womb!"

The snarl that answered was spoiled by a lot of heavy coughing. "That's real funny, I'll just bet you were a million laughs back on that weird-ass pile of rock you came from. Is that why they threw you out with the trash, Megatwerp, 'cause you were just too lame for the room, or was it 'cause you were a little blue freak, even back home?"

It took considerable effort for Megamind to maintain his self-control and not de-gun the entire stage on the destruct setting, just on general principles. It was bad enough when people taunted him about his obvious physical differences, but he hated it when they dragged in his lost homeworld and by inference his parents. "Very original, Nico," he managed to say in a fairly evil-sounding strangled laugh that came out through clenched teeth. "I'm sure I've only been called a little blue freak...oh, two or three hundred thousand times before. What's wrong, does your gas mask need a new filter, or is that big green cloud really just your natural aroma, overpowering that subatomic-sized brain of yours?"

The hacking cough and laughter had a leering edge to it, this time. "Why don't you come on in and find out for yourself, Megaloser? Better yet, why don'tcha send in your new squeeze? She can't be too picky, if she'll go for a dork like you. I'd like ta catch me a piece of _that_ action — though I don't know if it'd feel right, gettin' it on with some alien dog lovin' bi— _shit!"_

All of a sudden, the dense clouds that had been lurching thickly across the stage parted like the Red Sea, thanks to more than a dozen brainbots equipped to safely suction off and neutralize a wide variety of deadly smokes and gases from the sites of structural fires and industrial explosions. The lifting of the impenetrable fog revealed a stage filled with all the equipment from Wayne's band, but no people — save an almost shockingly short, ratty-looking man who was at best in his late twenties, though he looked closer to his late fifties, from his sallow, wrinkled skin and dull dishwater-colored hair. His face was covered with an old war surplus style gas mask that had been fitted with an amplifier for his voice. His outfit was a dated teenaged rebel get up from over a decade earlier.

As the thick smoke curled and drew away, vanishing up to where the working brainbots hovered among the riggings above the stage, the dissipating fog revealed Megamind as he detached himself from the shadows of the rear curtains, a truly unsettling smile on his face and the glowing de-gun in his hand. "Sorry, Nico," he said with mock pity. "Michigan's a no smoking state now, and it's time _you_ kicked the habit." He fired, and the hapless crook collapsed like a pile of wet noodles, de-bilitated rather than de-hydrated.

With the threat now effectively neutralized — all the more so with the diligent brainbots busily seeking out and counteracting any traces of the poisonous gas, easily neutralized with simple ammonia — the facility's security guards came forward to take charge of the limp villain. From out of the wings, Wayne and his group appeared, led by a typically chipper Minion.

"Everyone's safe and sound, sir!" the ichthyoid announced to both his boss and the audience as he came forward to join his friend. "It seems Mr. Scott and his band knew the stage well enough to slip out through the trap doors in the floor at the first sign of trouble."

"Always pays to keep on your toes when you know you've got some enemies out there, waiting for a chance to get a little payback," Wayne quipped with a broad smile and a wink. He showed admirable restraint in clapping Megamind's shoulder only hard enough to make him stumble ever so slightly. "Great job, little buddy, couldn't've done it better myself, back in the old days."

The audience, who had been clapping and cheering for both the apprehension of the would-be killer and the safe reappearance of Wayne and his band, finally calmed down. As they finished their work on the stage, the brainbots moved down the orchestra pit and the seating areas, checking for and cleaning up anything hazardous. They made quick work of it, and returned to hover around Daddy and Minion, waiting to be praised for a job well done. A couple even attached themselves to Roxanne as she returned to the stage, hoping that their new "Mommy" might also be counted on to give them a few strokes and pats of praise.

"Well, it looks like you found an... interesting way to liven up the act, Wayne!" the reporter said as she indulged the pair of eager brainbots nudging at her hands. "Or was this whole thing actually _your _act, Megamind?" She was grinning and more than half-laughing and so clearly teasing for the benefit of the eagerly watching viewers, even her sometimes touchy beau couldn't take offense. As she was still wearing a live mike, the studio audience laughed with her, adding a smattering of applause.

_"Mine?"_ the blue alien said with extreme, and not very exaggerated, indignation. "Turn the serious work I do every day into a silly _seedshow? _No way, that would be cheating! Not to mention _very _unimaginative! No, no, if this was planned, it was all _his _idea!" He pointed an accusing finger squarely at Wayne, who merely smiled and shrugged.

"Not that it wasn't a pretty good show," the retired hero admitted, "but that's too imaginative for me, little buddy, especially when I went and wrote a whole new song just for this gig and didn't even get to finish singing it!"

"I think a do-over can be arranged," Roxanne suggested, looking at the judges and the stage manager and the producer in charge of the broadcast for their approval. When all of them nodded, the producer adding several gestures to give her added instructions, she nodded and turned to her following camera. "Then that's a go!" she told their watching television audience. "We'll be right back after this break with the final two entries in the Metro City's Got Talent Annual Competition for Charity. Don't go away!"

* * *

With help from the stagehands and a few willing brainbots, all was prepared for Wayne's second try, while Megamind and Minion disappeared to prepare for their own. The staging for their own presentation was quickly arranged, so while the judges were offering their remarks to Wayne and his group and the stage behind the now closed front curtain was being reset, the pair of waiting alien ex-villains fidgeted in the shadows of the wings.

"Are you as nervous as I am, sir?" Minion whispered, anxiously twitching and wringing his hands.

Megamind managed a small, not too strained smile. "I doubt it, Minion. If you keep that up, you're going to ruin your new hands before you even have the chance to do what we designed them for."

The robotized fish immediately pulled them apart, but couldn't keep them from continuing to twitch and tap. "I guess I'm just worried because I'm so new to this. I've never performed in public, and I only got it completely right for the first time on our last try!"

"I know, but trust me on this: if you make a mistake and fall apart, they won't blame it on you. If _I _make a mistake and fall apart...! Well, let's just say it's likely to be pretty ugly. Even if I don't completely blow it, just a few flubs at the wrong time will ruin the whole thing."

Minion had to concede that point. "You do have the harder job, sir, true. Maybe we should've just gone with our first idea and done something we're both a lot more comfortable with..."

Megamind cocked one eyebrow. "And come off as totally predictable, yet again? I'm willing to take the risk. After all, I've had over twenty years of practice when it comes to looking like a complete fool and taking it gracefully — more or less."

"More less than more — sorry, sir," Minion apologized when the arch looked started turning to a glare. "I guess you're right, better to come off like fools with style than safe and predictable and completely boring."

"Exactly. And I can guarantee you, _nobody _is going to expect this."

"That's for sure," the fish agreed, then took a deep breath when the applause following Wayne's departure from the stage led to their introduction as the final entry of the evening. "I guess that's our cue," he sighed as the main curtains opened. "Good luck, sir."

The ex-villain grinned impishly. "I believe the correct phrase for the occasion is 'break a leg,' Minion."

"Maybe for you, sir. I hope I don't jinx it, then, 'cause I don't have a leg to break!"

"Then break a fin." He nudged his old friend out onto the stage first, as they had planned.

From the point of view of the audience, the curtains parted to reveal a very stark and minimal set up on the stage. It was, not unexpectedly, dark, the lighting and curtains and backdrop such that it appeared entirely black, save for a single blue spot that fell on a traditional grand piano. That, the standing mike for the contestants to use to announce their charity and their act, and the glow of three rather subdued brainbots hovering above the stage was all that could be seen.

From her vantage on the opposite side of the stage, Roxanne was a bit startled, but not all that much. She'd suspected that whatever they were planning to do, keyboard might somehow be a part of it, though she did wonder about it, given that Minion had only recently started to learn, and for all she knew Megamind knew little or nothing of the skill. The minimalist look of the staging and the presence of the brainbots made her highly suspicious that some kind of light show was in store, which could do a lot to cover up any novice mistakes that might be made. When Minion entered, bowing to the audience and the judges before taking his seat at the piano, Roxanne was mildly amused to see him wearing an electric blue silk bow-tie around his considerable neck and silver brocade cuffs fastened with black onyx links at the wrists of his new interchangeable hands. That explained the scraps she'd seen the brainbots tussling over. Okay, a _formal _laser light show.

But the whole idea was blown six ways from Sunday when Megamind entered a moment later, stepping first to the microphone. Rather than any costume she might have anticipated even in her wildest dreams, the reformed villain was dressed very...differently. Almost... normally.

His outfit was primarily black, which was almost the only thing about it that Roxanne could have called with both eyes shut. But it wasn't leather or spandex or polymer of any sort, nor did it have spikes, chains, buckles, studs, or any of his customary accouterments. What it appeared to be was a stylized version of a classic formal morning coat-style cutaway suit. The black slacks were closely tailored but otherwise ordinary, while the black coat itself showed all the signs of careful redesign to suit its wearer. The lapels were so narrow as to be virtually absent, while the collar flared up, but only at the back of the neck, not out to the sides. The tails that swept back from the tapered waist were somewhat longer and fuller than was typical, giving the whole thing an overall effect of a sweeping cape that had been tamed and tailored to wrap itself around the alien's slender body, to excellent effect. The traditional vest that peeped out from beneath the single-buttoned jacket was of the same silver brocade as Minion's cuffs, and the shirt beneath that of the same electric blue silk, designed with a simple stand-up collar meant to be worn without a tie of any sort. The pin that held it shut at the throat was in the shape of Megamind's logo, large enough to be picked up by a camera zoomed in on his face but otherwise just a glint of silver.

When the applause of the clearly stunned and uncertain audience died — and Roxanne had to admit, she was as stunned as any of them, though something uneasy began to stir in her gut — Megamind managed a reasonably self-assured smile before speaking. "I guess this is where I'm supposed to explain myself. I'll admit, it feels a little strange without the glaring lights shoved in my face and the third degree." The mild joke defused some of the tension, which was wholly a product of surprise. "When Minion and I were invited to be a part of tonight's competition, we weren't sure about anything, what we should do or which charity we should choose. Then we did a bit of research on the Internet, and found that the second decision wasn't hard at all, and when that was made, it led pretty naturally to the first. Tomorrow, the twenty-first of March, is the United Nations' International Day for the Elimination of Racial Prejudice. Being the only two of our particular races left in existence — and obviously alien races, at that — we both have been all too familiar with racial prejudice, and the harm it can cause, especially to children who are trying to discover who they are, and what they can be.

"With that in mind, we chose as our charity the Metro County Council for Interracial Understanding's youth initiative to provide awareness instruction along with funding for educational opportunities for underprivileged children of all races. As our entry, we put together a presentation of a song I'm sure many of you know, but almost none of you think _I _would know! But Minion and I believe it's appropriate, given the charity we've chosen, and — well, let's just see how it goes. We're both pretty new to this!"

There was polite applause and some light laughter at his final remarks as he moved to join Minion beside the piano. As he glanced up at the hovering brainbots and nodded to them, he picked up something from the piano that Roxanne only then noticed. When she recognized it, she winced, now understanding what had stirred the uneasiness in her gut. It was a violin, not the basic student version she'd heard Megamind play for her rather inexpertly a good nine months ago, but a black solid bodied electric type that somehow suited him very well, at least in its highly stylized, sleek appearance. But she had to bite her lip to keep herself from groaning. It had been hard enough, smiling and pretending to be pleased with Wayne's improved but still pretty awful performance; she didn't know how she'd manage to pull that off if the butcher this time was her own boyfriend. Why couldn't he have just stuck with the electric guitar? Everyone at least _expected _that to be some kind of weird torture...

Then the music started. Two chords on the piano, lightly played, a pause, then repeated. Another pause, then a repeat extended into a longer, but still quiet passage, the final sustained chord fading as the bow finally touched the strings, Roxanne braced herself for the worst—

—and nearly fainted to hear the remarkably sweet sound of a brief but well-executed introductory cadenza that gracefully segued into the melodic line of Leonard Bernstein's old but very well known song from _West Side Story_, "Somewhere." As piano and violin together spun out the poignant song — astonishingly well — a collage of video images flickered to life behind them against the black backdrop of the stage, the brainbots' projections sometimes artfully rippled by the texture of the heavy drapes that acted as the screen. Images, both still and motion, of the city, the lake, the skies, the people — some random, some specific, some very specific, in moments of wonder, of sadness, of doubt, of joy, all shown in a carefully, lovingly crafted video montage threaded with precisely timed images of the words of the song for those who did not know them:

_There's a place for us,  
Somewhere, a place for us.  
Peace and quiet and open air  
Wait for us, somewhere._

_There's a time for us,  
Someday, a time for us.  
Time together with time to spare,  
Time to look, time to care._

_Someday, somewhere,  
We'll find a new way of living,  
We'll find a way of forgiving,  
Somewhere._

_There's a place for us,  
A time and place for us.  
Hold my hand and we're halfway there.  
Hold my hand and I'll take you there:  
Somehow, someday, somewhere!_

When the final softly sustained notes faded and the last image slowly dissolved to black, the stunned silence that followed was deafening. Roxanne couldn't have said if any mistakes had been made in the playing; all she knew was what everyone who listened and watched knew: a connection had been made, a deep emotional longing communicated, an even deeper universal wish and hope spoken without words. There wasn't a dry eye in the house, her own included. And as her beau lowered the instrument to take his bow and the applause finally began, she threw all notions of her job and on-the-air caution to the wind and ran across the stage to fling her arms around him, hugging him for dear life.

Megamind briefly glanced at Minion, who was grinning with relief that they had both successfully pulled off something so utterly unlike their expected norm. The blue alien answered with his own smile, willing his shaking knees to keep him upright. He wrapped his arms around Roxanne, careful to avoid poking her with the things still in his hands, yet he was immensely gratified by the reaction of the one person for whom he had truly poured out his heart and his soul. Winning for himself or for the charity was immaterial, so long as Roxanne understood. And she clearly did.

When the other contestants and the judges came onto the stage to join them, Wayne, who was perfectly used to being "on" for the cameras, grinned broadly as he tugged Minion up from the piano bench to join them. "Well, little buddy," he said clearly enough to be heard by everyone in the room, even above the standing ovation, "it looks like you finally whupped me but good in a fight, fair and square!"

Over the laughter and smiles and back thumping and abashed grins that followed, the judges declared that momentous event official.

* * *

"Megamind, I am never, _ever _going to call you predictable again, as long as I live — longer!"

In the afterglow of the competition and its many unexpected twists and turns toward the end, Roxanne's job as the MC was finally finished, the video cameras were off, and everyone was returning to the ballroom which had been cleared of the dinner tables and was now set up for the celebratory party. The ex-villain, still in his formal performance outfit, was hanging back near the edge of the stage with Roxanne while the bulk of the crowd moved to the other hall and Minion ducked backstage to make sure anything they'd left behind was collected up and returned to the Lair, along with Daddy's violin. Megamind favored the now off-duty reporter with a satisfied but wry grin. "Seems to me I've heard _that _promise before," he remarked with an exaggerated roll of the eyes. "At least a dozen times!"

Roxanne took the teasing as warranted. "And if I say it again, you will be well within your rights to say 'I told you so,' as often as you like! Did Minion design your outfit?"

"Who else? There's no point in looking for another tailor or a designer when you already live under the same roof as the best on the planet." He struck a perfectly vain and only partially feigned preening pose that made Roxanne giggle. "So," he asked, waggling his eyebrows for effect. "Do you like it?"

"Positively dashing," she declared. _"And _incredibly handsome. I'll be the envy of every woman at the ball!"

"Then they'll just have to stay jealous, since this was all for you. All of it," he added, dropping the dramatic poses and exaggerations. "I started learning the violin for my own reasons, the whole Sherlock Holmes thing, but I kept at it until I was good enough to stop offending people, for you." When the brunette's response was a thoroughly puzzled expression, he explained. "When you kept asking how things were going, even after you'd heard me playing that first week when I was still dreadful, I didn't want to disappoint you, if you were really interested enough to ask."

"I wouldn't have blamed you for giving up, sweetie," she said, gently. "That's a very hard instrument to learn at all, especially to learn so well. You really must've been working very hard, this last year, to have come so far. I've heard professionals who would've done worse."

"You have _no_ idea how hard I worked, and how hard it was to find time to do it!" he admitted with a groan. "I went through a lot of trouble to make sure you didn't hear me while I was still lousy. When Minion and I got the invitation back in September, we had an idea of doing this, so I worked twice as hard, whenever I could. I _am _good with my hands, after all; it was just a matter of time 'til I got the hang of it — which was less than two weeks ago! Though Minion did fib a little when he said he's never played a keyboard before. He learned years ago, but he just didn't keep at it when we were at our busiest, at war with Wayne. He had to get back into shape again, so to speak. The new interchangeable hands helped."

"A lot," Roxanne agreed, hearing the anthropomorphized fish returning from back stage. She smiled. "Do you plan to take your act on the road?"

Megamind shook his head. "You've seen our one and only public performance. It wasn't actually important to me whether or not we won — I would've given the charity I picked that much of my own money, regardless. I just wanted to do something that you'd be proud of. I know it can be kind of tough for you, having me as your... well, I don't think 'boyfriend' is exactly the right word, these days, but I can't think of anything better."

Her smiled turned mischievous. "I can — but I think we should save that discussion for some place a little less... crowded. If I ask for a private performance, can I have it?"

His answering grin was equally wicked. "All you have to do is ask," he promised. And the reward for willing surrender, he later discovered, was much sweeter than even that of victory.

_Finis_

_

* * *

The lyrics to "Somewhere" were written by Stephen Sondheim. The piano and violin rendition that inspired this is the one recorded by the Korean violinist Chee-Yun; the recording can be found on both Amazon and iTunes (no YouTube, as far as I can find). The performance I imagine here would be similar, if not exactly the same. And the International Day for the Elimination of Racial Prejudice is for real - check it out on the United Nations' website!  
_


End file.
